


In Every Universe, We Find Each Other

by EternallySilverMagnusandAlec



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Alec Lightwood Has Feelings, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autistic Alec Lightwood, Autistic Character, Discrimination Against Downworlders, Downworld Clave relations, Downworld Culture, Downworlder Politics, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Forbidden Love, How Do I Tag, Hurt Alec Lightwood, Hurt Magnus Bane, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magic, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Magnus Bane Has Feelings, Magnus's magic loves Alec Lightwood, Malec Discord Mini Bang 2020, Mutual Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Past manipulation, Starcrossed Lovers, finding yourself, season 1 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26296000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternallySilverMagnusandAlec/pseuds/EternallySilverMagnusandAlec
Summary: Tensions have been rising between the Clave and the Downworld to the brink of near revolution in the wake of Valentine's return. Magnus is asked to lead in these trying times, pushed to fight at the forefront of his people and the downworld as he has for centuries. Despite this, Magnus and Alec still meet and dance around with whatever is growing between them, time stretching into months of stolen interactions despite the swelling conflict, and fall in love. And Alec Lightwood still makes the decision to choose Magnus Bane.Or:A collection of moments in a time of growing tension Magnus and Alec share, and the product of their final choices
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 23
Kudos: 150
Collections: Autistic Alec Lightwood, Malec Discord Mini Bang 2020





	In Every Universe, We Find Each Other

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was created for the Malec Discord Mini Bang 2020 hosted by the [Malec Discord Server](https://discord.gg/5nBgEp8).
> 
> Oh boy there's a lot to say about this but let me start with a HUGE thank you to the amazing [Junie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeSilverheart/) for being my absolutely incredible beta reader, I appreciate you so much! [LycheeJelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lychee_jelly) created some absolutely gorgeous art for my fic and I'm so honored to have worked with both of you lovely people <3 <3
> 
> This is a canon divergent fic that takes place over several months in which tensions between the Clave and the Downworld are climbing ever higher. We don't get to see much of the Downworld action in this fic sadly, but I do have plans to revisit this world someday! This was the product of summer writing, and this doesn't capture everything I wish I had, but I'm proud to share it with you nonetheless (even it may feel a bit disjointed in places)
> 
> Trigger warnings for this fic: child abuse (discussions of it and there are flashbacks that feature it), ableism and internalized ableism, and fantasy racism in the form of discussed discrimination against downworlders

Magnus had watched the rise and fall of civilizations. He’d seen empires fall and power corrupt and new leaders rise to the head of whole nations.

More than that, he’d been proactive in his time. Magnus was one of the warlocks selected for the first signing of the Accords. He was there as they watched the beginning of a document that would change the politics of the Shadow World.

The Clave had been idle to their plights for years. They stayed separate from the downworld. Except, in truth, they didn’t. When they saw fit to intervene, to accuse downworlders at the first sign of trouble, the so-called separation was laughable.

They chose to look the other way to hellish nightmares like the Circle, and the very protection they swore so often could be revoked, for they would always choose their own people.

The Clave never took the time to take numbers. To account for how many losses the warlocks had suffered, how many packs had lost family, how many Clans had watched their friends scramble and be plucked off one by one. They had an obligation to keep downworlders alive but truth was, they could be as much hell to deal with as the very demons they fought.

That might have been a tad dramatic, but it was well earned. They would never choose the Downworld.

It had been centuries. Magnus was weary. Weary of genocidal maniacs and trying to keep his people alive in a world that despised their very existence. The Clave refused to progress. And the rest of the Shadow World? They were tired of waiting for them to catch up.

Downworlders were disappearing. The Clave, as they did the last time around, didn’t acknowledge their fears. Looked the other way. Refused to see the full consequences of their actions.

Conflicts between the Downworld and the Clave were ever rising. While none had gotten physically violent yet, spats had broken out. Groups had closed their doors to nephilim entirely. Magnus sat atop his throne in Pandemonium, listened to vampires and seelies and warlocks who entered his domain bring him their fears and did his best to provide solutions to them.

As Magnus watched, he was intimately aware of one thing.

The peace was tremulous at best, and very soon, the Downworld would begin to revolt.

* * *

Magic hummed, a steady presence in his very essence, and Magnus let it crescendo in an all out crash. The bookcase slammed into the floor, just as intended. The Circle member paused for merely half a moment, raising a brow before idly using it as a helpful stepping stone on his path as he crossed towards Magnus.

The man swept his seraph blade in the air, a warning. It hummed in his hand, lit up with the same white light that accompanied all shadowhunters. 

“Your magic’s strong, warlock,” he taunted. Magnus bit back an eye roll. It did come with being High Warlock of Brooklyn, inventor of the portal, and son of a greater demon (though that was one he had no pride over). “Much stronger than that horned weakling I killed this morning.”

There was a grief caught in his throat, a suffocating darkness that burned in the back of his being. His warlocks. _His._ He hadn’t been here to protect them, and they had paid the price for his actions.

_“Elias.”_ The name burned like a condemnation on his tongue.

Magnus’s magic rippled and the man weaved to the side, ducking under the pulse and step stuttering a little as he recollected himself. Magnus didn’t lash out, eyes locked on the murderer in front of him, breath caught in his throat as he stared at another catalyst of a system twisted in the favor of oppressors over their people.

The Circle member huffed, something too close to a laugh that had Magnus’s magic swelling in fury. “That was his name. Well, lucky for us, he sold you out,” as he spoke, he continued waving his blade, precise strokes a caution, a warning. An almost smirk curled his features, “before I took his warlock mark.”

Magnus couldn’t take it, not that. They both spun at the same instant, magic lashing out when the Circle member jerked back with a grunt as he tried to avoid the blast. Magnus noted with no small amount of delight that he still caught the brunt of it full-force.

They circled each other, blades and magic at the ready, both humming with energy in a mirror image, angelic and demonic, nephilim and warlock. A silent dance they were a part of. Eventually they stopped, poised almost where they had been at the start. Magnus could sense the hint of another presence, brushing against what was left of the wards behind him, senses heightened in the heat of battle.

“Your cat’s eyes will be a nice addition to my collection.”

The archer let his arrow fly true, flying past him and lodging itself directly through the Circle member’s leg. He doubled over with a scream, and Magnus didn’t hesitate, weaving his hands in a swirl of brilliant sparks before thrusting out his palm. His magic erupted with a cold fury, and he could feel it roar in rage beneath his hands. The same anger he felt reflected in his magic, in the way it sought to coil about Magnus protectively. The Circle member slammed back with a dull thud, collapsing onto the bookcase and, with a flick of his wrist, Magnus chained the man with invisible bindings to hold him there until further notice.

“Well done,” the words fell from the shadowhunter’s lips with ease, as though they were the first thing that came to mind. 

Magnus tried to bite back a cheeky grin, tipping his head for half a moment, considering. “More like medium rare,” he retorted. When he turned to face the shadowhunter, his mark had vanished behind his ever familiar glamour.

He was just as pretty as Magnus remembered, though this time, not caught between life and death at the moment, under lighting he could truly see him, he could fully appreciate the view. He was gorgeous, dark hair paired with hazel eyes and inked runes standing out sharply against his skin. He was tall with clearly defined muscles, shoulders formed by years of intense training. More than that, a large rune curled prominently on the side of his neck, standing out sinfully and making Magnus’s mouth run dry. His lips parted before he caught himself, forcing himself to swallow.

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,” he managed when he finally found his voice, putting on a charming smile as he swaggered forward with a practiced ease. “I’m- Magnus.”

Which he likely already knew, as he was sent here by the Clave for a purpose, but, then again, it never hurt to get down and personal. And there wasn’t any harm in flirting with the ridiculously attractive shadowhunter who’d stepped in to try and save his life not once, but twice. Might be fun to show his appreciation.

“Alec,” he breathed, a name to a very pretty face. He smiled, something soft and small and utterly delighted stretching wide, one that Magnus knew echoed on his face. 

Magnus had learned the expressions, the many faces of those interested in him. None were as genuine as the pure enamoured look, the awe that spoke of pure fascination and respect for Magnus mere moments after encountering him, seeing him, without reservation intrigued and invested in him.

Someone who actually was swept up in seeing Magnus, as though he were a vision of the highest caliber.

Alec stared at him, something soft and undeniably awed flickering his features paired with that delightful little smile. Magnus couldn’t help but preen under the attention. Because Alec was indeed watching him, looking at him with awe and want and something gentle, like he was precious and vital and utterly breathtaking, a far cry from the cold front of a shadowhunter, trained warrior forged by years of fire and hunting and indoctrination.

“Oh, uh, we, uh, we sh-should really probably,” Alec’s hands fluttered up and down, restlessly moving as he struggled to gather his words. He gestured to the door. “Get... y’know.”

Magnus tried not to show how utterly endeared he was by the stammering, the way Alec stumbled over his words with a smile still tugging the corner’s of his lips as he stared in unveiled awe at the warlock across from him.

“Right,” Magnus lazily rolled his head, his lips quirking upward. “We should join the party.”

There was something there, a flicker of utter relief and almost awe, something disbelieving at something as simple as Magnus finishing the thought.

“Right,” the word was breathless. Alec turned, striding out of the room and away from whatever was hanging between them as quickly as he could. Magnus shot a final cursory glance over his shoulder toward the Circle member unconscious on the ground.

“This fight’s far from over.”

He let his words hang in the air a moment, face worn from centuries experience. This may not be the only war waged in the span of fleeting moments from his perception.

* * *

Reconvening with the others was weird. Alec was on edge, sparks alight beneath his skin, something he wanted to ignore. That was easy enough, feelings were strange and illogical and he didn’t know what to do with them. How was he supposed to understand which emotion he was feeling and try to sort through that? How was one to decipher the nondescript tangle caught in one’s chest and put name to them? It was easier to push it down, shove it to the side, ignore it.

He was an expert in that by now, a master at subversion and dancing around feelings he let fade to nothing from the corner of his eye.

He thought that would be the end of it. But to Alec’s surprise (and though he’d refuse to admit it to himself, delight) Magnus didn’t stop focusing on him. He directed comments to him, ones that were lost on him but set something a little warm if not confused in his chest despite it.

“Normally,” Magnus pulled an expression, something that looked uncomfortable and downright painful, something Alec couldn’t read. “I love a dirty lair, but this one’s just sloppy.”

The warlock pushed the table down to his side with the tip of his boot.

Alec squinted, face screwing up in confusion as he tried to sort through that. There was emphasis on that, a drag in the syllables he knew meant to signify something. One that gave him the odd feeling that he was missing something, something obvious everyone expected him to know that Alec was blinded to.

He didn’t understand. But it was easier to let the question lay thick on his tongue, swallow it hard. Because he knew the laughter people gave in response, the jokes, the disbelief at the pure _idiocy_ of Alec for not understanding.

(Alec was smart, up until the point he wasn’t, and he’d never liked playing the part of the fool.)

Magnus spoke to Izzy, something soft as he put the necklace on her, something Alec couldn’t hear that had her giggling. He tried to ignore it and instead pin his attention on Jace.

Alec shifted, fidgeting with the strap of his quiver to resist the urge to fiddle his fingers (a weakness he didn’t dare show now) as he looked up curiously at Clary.

“Okay,” Magnus nodded. He pointed back toward them and Alec fought hard not to squint again. His hand seemed aimed almost directly at Jace (though his finger was aimed at Alec and only Alec) and his next words were painfully light as he flicked his finger back towards Alec and Jace.

“Pretty boy, get your team ready.”

  
Alec let his face stay stern. There was no expression on his features, but there was a storm in his eyes, something dark and resigned and the slightest bit sad. Not him. He was used to it at this point, so much so he scarcely recognized it at this point. Jace was attractive, and everyone knew. Jace was smart and brave and strong in all the ways Alec wasn’t.

Alec may have been the leader, the acting Head, the diplomat, but Jace took charge with ease. “You know what to do,” he unfolded his arms as he strode forward, head held high with the same easy confidence he wore most often. Before he could get any further, a hand pressed against his chest as Magnus pushed him back into place.

“I’m not talking to you,” Magnus said without hesitation, and Alec couldn’t stop watching him, the way his hands gestured, holding one up in warning to Jace and pushing Jace back into his place without hesitation. “I’m talking to- you.”

And Magnus pointed. He pointed at Alec with a smile anyone else might have described as coy, an almost smirk, and looking indignant over the fact that Jace had assumed he was talking to _him_.

Alec- Alec _grinned_ , something giddy and sweet that he so rarely let free. Grinning like a lovesick fool, someone enamored by charms and blinded by something pretty beyond reason or rational thought, fooling themselves, one of the people Izzy batted her eyes at and had falling over themselves in seconds. It was half a moment, if even that. The instant Jace looked at him in disbelief Alec knew. He remembered. Alec wasn’t allowed to be pretty or like boys or flirt with people. Alec wasn’t supposed to do anything but his job and keep his family safe and prevent anyone from ever, ever seeing past his carefully crafted defenses.

(Alec was gay, he _knew_ that, but he also knew with terrifying certainty that it was everyone else who made it impossible to be so. It wasn’t allowed. Shadowhunters weren’t allowed to like gorgeous boys and be gay and smile back at warlocks when they were called pretty. Alec was gay but he _couldn’t_ be, that was the crux of the issue. He was not allowed. The world would burn at his feet, every damn thing he had worked so hard for would fall apart the moment it came into the open. Alec was so many things, not a one of them what he should be, a thousand things that contradicted everything he ought to, and Alec wasn’t allowed to _be._

He had to live the life of someone else, the shadow of a being that existed only as a leader and warrior, not a shred of personhood that could be easily picked out.

Alec was a sliver, not a fully formed idea, something that wavered uncertainly and, like Atlas, he crumbled under the weight of the sky.)

Alec did what he could. He twisted his expression into an overexaggerated frown when Jace looked at him and gave a one armed shrug while shaking his head. _I don’t know._

If he understood expressions better, he might have noticed Jace looked offended. Like he baffled at the concept of someone looking at Alec instead of him. Alec would have supposed it was expected, if not painfully accurate. 

The pentagram stood out in vibrant colors against the floor. It was neatly drawn, a perfect replica, and Clary dusted off the last of the details as she eyed it closely.

“Jocelyn was right,” Magnus led Alec and the others into the room, praising, “Your artistry is beyond compare.”

Clary stood up, brushing the last of the chalk dust off her knees. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she breathed.

“Oh, the only one I knew who could draw this well was _Michelangelo_ , who was excellent in bed I might add,” Magnus rocked up on his toes, peeking up as he tried to catch a glimpse of Alexander across from him.

Izzy choked on a laugh and Alec’s brain stuttered to a halt.

_Flirting_ . Magnus was flirting with him and that was- that was strange. Alec didn’t even know how to talk with people normally, how was he supposed to respond to flirting? Were there more rules to be learned? He didn’t know he was supposed to appropriately respond, what this called for, what he ought to do in this situation and how to tell. Because flirting often relied on saying one thing and meaning another, insinuations he should be able to tell but Alec _couldn’t._

(Hodge looked at Izzy. Hodge looked at Izzy when he spoke of beauty and Magnus’s exquisite tastes, eyes following her, handing the jewelry off to the woman known to be the most beautiful in the room and most versed in weaponizing it. 

They never entertained the notion that it could be him. Plain, quiet, closed off Alec. They didn’t consider or expect that a man as elegant, as incredible, as Magnus Bane could pause over Alec Lightwood with his messy hair and dark button up, the one no one looked at like that, and pursue him.

“Pretty boy” burned in his head, frozen, something that had his lips twitching every time he thought of it despite the swirl of other, tangled, terrifying feelings it awakened with it because Magnus had chosen him.

Magnus looked at him and called him pretty, pushed Jace back like he was a fool for entertaining that Magnus would consider him the pretty one when Alec was right there.

No one had looked to Alec first.

Not until Magnus.)

Jace shot him another look at that, a silent accusation, and Alec shrugged once more. 

His head had the beginnings of an ache, the remainder of flashing lights itching at the back of his consciousness, the itch left by eye contact after a long day, things he knew he would pay for later. It was a feeling he knew might end in him curling in a ball after scribbling soundless runes on the walls to try to numb the world around him.

Things seemed to move quickly after that. Magnus directed them to their proper places on the pentagram and he explained the summoning, making fleeting gestures with his hands Alec couldn’t help but follow with his eyes and stressing the importance of not breaking the bond.

Alec tried not to let his breath snag between his teeth. Magnus rolled his wrist with a practiced nonchalance, somehow looking impossibly seductive with a simple gentle flex of his hand. Silver chains draped over his hands, hanging off them and Alec hesitated a mere half a moment. The weight of Magnus’s gaze on him was heavy (as strange of a descriptor), but not in the painful itch that most eye contact offered him.

Alec took Magnus’s hand.

It felt an impossible step forward.

(It didn’t help. Whatever joy Alec had found in these little stolen moments, the things he wasn’t allowed, hadn’t ever been allowed, didn’t help. Not when Jace’s face stared back at him from the memory demon. The world was closing in on him and suffocating every thought and hope. Alec yanked his hand away, breaking the circle and the demon was free.

Jace was the one who paid for it, then, when Alec ran at the demon, taking the brunt and falling into its clutches until-

Until.)

“Jace?” There was a clawing in his throat, something burning and his body ached something deep. Terror bled into his voice, infusing every crevice of his being as he demanded, “Jace, get up.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Clary asked Magnus.

Magnus’s voice lilted, the words a barely there presence itching the back of Alec’s mind. “I don’t know, does he normally lay like that without moving?”

It was several more terrifying instants, moments that had his heart ramming in his chest as he stared helplessly at his parabatai. There was nothing he could do, fear an all consuming presence, threatening to swallow him whole and destroying every fibre of sanity in his being. Then, he lurched up, back arching as he heaved and gasped and Alec could breathe again.

Clary and Jace were talking. He didn’t hear a word of it, trying to prevent his hands from shaking as he pushed himself to his feet and left as quickly as he was able. He’d broken the bond, yanked his hand away and released a demon all because of his own damn messed up emotions and then he’d gone after the demon and only succeeded in getting Jace involved as well, until he was screaming and restrained by a Greater Demon while Alec did nothing.

His fault. His fault, the words threatened to destroy him because it was useless, Jace knew, Jace knew and-

Magnus approached, a slow, steady thing with a face Alec could tell was impossibly soft despite the glint of something else he couldn’t decipher. As though he were approaching a frightened animal.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Alec,” he breathed.

Alec didn’t look at him, focused his eyes on the scene in front of him. He was terrified of what the warlock would see if he looked at him, if he saw, able to read from his eyes the emotions he had no damn idea how to regulate when the world was a cacophony of faces made of utter nonsense Alec grasped fistfuls of and still came up dry.

He didn’t understand but he was afraid, of how well people could read him, of how even Magnus, after less than a day, could see what Alec wanted to hide most of all.

His breathing was hitched, ragged as he kept his words as firm as he could. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Magnus paused, tipping his head to one side, before, “You will.” 

He strode out of the room before he could even fathom answering, register the words and what they might signify.

* * *

It would be some time before Magnus let himself collapse under the weight of the deaths. Count the names of the lost, feel the ache of his failures as acutely as they deserved to be known. But tonight, he gave himself the reprieve to slip when the shadowhunters left his home. To double over and clutch to the back of his couch so hard his knuckles went painfully pale.

Magnus let out a ragged breath, the closest to a cry he’d allow himself.

There was an emptiness. As High Warlock, he had felt and watched the spark of each of his people, found it presented to him, known them. There were glints, those he didn’t know well but was aware of in the back of his mind. Each light a person, a being under his care he ought to protect so long as they were in his jurisdiction (and Magnus Bane’s compassion cared little for the bounds of his jurisdiction when it came to hurts and what he could do to heal).

He remembered, felt the prickle on his neck as he recalled Camille’s breath and the way she had whispered so many years ago against his skin, pacing the room like a caged tiger. “How many of them are you going to sacrifice your life for? You know they’ll never truly want you, of all people. Not for keeps.”

Camille was a yawning grave that threatened to open inside his chest, a sinking abyss of endless screaming and twisting words ingrained into the back of his skull. Camille was senseless violence and ceaseless beauty in equal measure, master manipulator and genuine saviour. Cruel and cutting, twisting and lying, but for all of it:

She was the one who saved him when he had nothing left. Who pulled him back from atop a ledge and kept Magnus Bane among the living.

Perhaps at one point, there was something genuine in her. Something good and pure and honorable in her, enough to save him and convince him not to step back on that ledge. But one act of nobility, even several, could never redeem violence sought on others in pure cruelty.

It was a long time before her cold fury slipped through, barbs that sunk deep and found their mark, leaving scars lifetimes later and walls around his heart as he desperately closed himself in.

He closed his eyes, felt the weight of the loss, the more certain to come, recalled the sting as Camille swamped his mind.

He couldn’t find respite from her, not now. But he let his magic flare around him, silencing her whispers as he filled his mind with his warlocks instead. The smile and high five Zoe had offered him earlier that day, memorizing everything he could about the smiles he had worked so hard to coax onto Elias’s features.

Magnus let sparks flash to life as he began his fire message.

_I humbly request an audience with the Spiral Labyrinth._

Simple enough, but it should suffice. Magnus banished it with a sigh and shot a final glance across his loft. If this became war, Magnus knew he’d do every damn thing he could to keep his people protected for as long as he could.

* * *

It was all too easy to collapse under the weight of this. 

He ached with the magical exhaustion chipping at his being, stretched thin from a long day of complicated spellwork and endless clients, juggling enough work most people would call him dangerously low in regard for his health. (He could handle it, _could_ being the keyword, before a newly minted shadowhunter showed up with her pseudo werewolf father in desperate need of magical attention.)

He could only be aware of falling for all but a moment before someone caught him, a glint of dark and the feel of firm hands guiding him upright. Magnus lifted his chin, taking in Alexander Lightwood across him, nearly dizzy under the wave of pure relief that accompanied him.

“Help me,” Magnus pleaded. He offered his hand, fingers tremulously unwinding as he breathed, “I need your strength.”

Alec hesitated, gaze darting between Magnus’s hand and his face. For one awful, terrifying moment, Magnus thought he would refuse. (What shadowhunter would offer their strength to a downworlder? Such things were seen as intimate, unspeakable. Giving their power, their strength, for a downworlder to continue above them was- laughable. Had been for so many of the centuries that lingered in Magnus’s mind.) 

It was only a moment before Alec lifted his hand. “Take what you need,” he offered, sounding as breathless as Magnus felt. He stared for a moment before delicately curling his fingers around Alec’s hand.

It should have been no time at all, but Magnus’s heart had always been one for the hopeless romantics. The smiles they shared spoke of something more, something Magnus was itching to find out, and as he focused back to the task at hand he felt his magic rush to his fingertips, pouring out in a stream with the sudden curl of energy buzzing through his veins.

Alec remained the same pinnacle of strength, the only sound escaping him a sharp exhale through his nose, barely swaying under the force of having his strength drawn on. Something hummed between them, not in the romantic sense, but the lending of energy, a transaction that gave and took in equal measure.

“Clary?” Jace and Sidmond burst into the loft. Magnus could barely process it until Clary poured the mixture into Luke’s mouth and they watched as the magic faded, the lights returning to normal as Luke woke.

_Oh._

Magnus swayed, a bone deep exhaustion overtaking him as he dropped his head back against Alec’s shoulder with a shaky exhale. When he lifted his gaze, hearing the echo of Luke’s soft “Clary” in his ears, all he could do was tremble.

He was breathless, features gentled as he gazed up in awe at the incredible shadowhunter holding a warlock up with nothing but his strength. Alec still hadn’t let go of his hand, a warm steadying presence despite the way the world swam in his vision.

“You okay?” Alec asked.

Magnus nodded a little. He liked Alec, more than mere attraction or someone fun to pursue for a fleeting encounter. A little enamored, breathless and frozen under the weight of the realization, all he could focus on was the concern bleeding off every feature of Alec’s face. “Yeah,” he breathed. He would be. He was already better than he could have imagined.

* * *

The others were gone. It was just Magnus and Alec, in the living room, Luke asleep in the guest room, worn from his injuries and the war his body had waged.

It was Alec who took command, ordering Jace to take Clary back to the Institute. Who gave him a look and said someone had to handle everything else, and they’d put enough on Magnus for the night. Jace might very well have protested (and god Jace’s “maybe your mother was right and your best just isn’t good enough” bit in his ears, burning, damning in a way that suffocated everything he’d ever known.)

Everything Magnus did was touched with theatrical flair. Sweeping motions, grand gestures, the way he walked as though every step with a dance. It even bled into things as simple as this, pouring a glass with a pleased smile. He tossed a glance briefly over his shoulder and faltered. 

Alec Lightwood was a vision in many senses, but this…

His lips were curled back in displeasure but there was a keen focus to every line of his body. He was on his knees, set determinedly to the task of scrubbing blood from Magnus’s couch as though he hadn’t already given more than Magnus had expected him to. (A Shadowhunter, doing something as mundane as cleaning blood off a warlock’s property.)

“You know I have magic for that, right?” There was amusement laced with his words, trying to brush it off as he focused his attention back on the drinks in his hands. He had centuries of experience telling him he mixed fantastic drinks, should the situation call for it, and he was never one to disappoint.

Alec looked up at him, huffing. “I think you’ve exerted yourself enough for one day,” he settled for, as if the act of showing such concern over a downworld, a warlock no less, wasn’t an act of revolution in and of itself. 

(What greater act of revolution could Magnus find than joy? Because after pain and torment and agony like no other, the pure disdain of the nephilim, it was, in and of itself, power to find joy. To smile and live and breathe every moment with hope and laughter instead of crumbling under the weight of centuries. It was a final act of rebellion to find happiness in a world where you were hated.)

“Drink break?” Magnus held the drinks in question up with a smile, trying not to appear half as longing as he was. His breath was caught in his throat and, with a final huff, Alec pushed himself to his feet and strode to join him.

Alec took the drink from his hand and ever one for perfectionism, Magnus couldn’t help himself from snapping his fingers and watching blue sparks hum to life, swirling about the drink with the hazy warmth of a blue glow.

“To us,” he tipped his glass up with a smile, watching the slight nod Alec gave before clinking their glasses together.

There were the beginnings of something here. In the darting glances, the stolen moments, the something simmering between the two of them like a living entity. Between the grimace of distaste Alec tried to bite back as he lowered his drink, Magnus muffling his own embarrassing smile into his glass. Between the soft glances and overt flirting and stammering and delight worn in equal measure.

There was a beat of silence, a breath.

“Why did you ask for me?” Alec gestured with his hand, dropping it to his side. There was a furrow to his brow, the hints of disbelief and lack of understanding. “When Jace and Clary were both here?”

That startled Magnus out of his thoughts, but not enough to break his gaze on Alec. “Hmm, Jace didn’t tell you?” He supposed it would have made for an... interesting enough conversation between parabatai. Alec shook his head and Magnus drew in a breath, spinning on his heel. “Doesn’t matter, it was a lie anyway.”

After putting several steps between them, he delicately reached up to fiddle with the cuff of his ear. It had been a long time since Magnus had done this, had pursued someone like this, or a shadowhunter at all. He hadn’t dared after Camille, jaded and aching and broken, too much for anyone else and too damaged to be taken.

But something about Alec Lightwood made him want to try, beyond all reason, beyond all sense, and it tasted a little bit like something called destiny.

“Are warlocks always this cryptic?”

Magnus laughed then, something small and short and delighted. “I’m not being cryptic. I’m being coy.”

Alec’s gaze flittered between him and the glass, as it so often had this conversation. Hazel eyes never staying still long, eyes often squinting or flickering away, hiding as swiftly as he was able. Magnus let out a barely there breath as he crossed the distance between them.

“Let me spell it out for you,” It wasn’t easy to do this. Because it was despite fear, _despite_ instinct and years of pain telling him to do otherwise, Magnus took a breath and bore his heart without hesitation, let his emotions be seen in a way that could offer heartbreak and the sweetest bliss in equal measure. His steps drew to a halt. “I wanted to see you again.”

Alec nodded, shifting, rocking back as his gaze darted up, down, between, as he struggled to take that in.

“Why?” The word was so simple in the air.

Magnus took a step closer. “Why’d you come?”

Alec… hesitated. It was easy to see like this, the indecision that warred his features, the itch to move and deflect and hide in equal measure. Something Magnus could see perfectly reflected in himself, with wide theatrical movements and witty quips and makeup a shield of armor.

His head shook, lips parting but nothing came out before he swallowed. “I- I’m not sure,” he confessed.

Magnus clenched his jaw, tilting his chin up as he fought desperately to keep himself in check. “For almost a century…” he shook his heads, the words difficult to force past his lips. “I’ve closed myself off to feeling anything for anyone. Man or woman.”

It sounded simple in the air, far simpler than such things could ever be. Magnus let out a breath.

“You’ve unlocked something in me,” something that tasted like freedom.

Alec’s gaze darted down to his lips for a flicker of a moment. Another moment before he dropped his gaze entirely. The silence was suffocating in the air, Magnus and Alec fluttering around each other, eyes just missing each other as they avoided acknowledging the lingering feeling between them. Whatever words he might find were dying in Alec’s throat as he struggled to find something, anything, to say while Magnus retreated under the weight of his admission.

Whatever the unidentifiable jumble of emotions of those moments were cut short by the ring of a cellphone. Magnus forced a clumsy smile, twisting away from Alec as the tension between them was cut entirely. “Hey. Uh, mother.”

Magnus took a slow drink, staring out the window. He could dimly sense the presence of Alec behind him as he steadied his racing heart.

“Of course,” Alec ended the call. He looked up, setting his drink down as he offered a simple, “Duty calls.”

“Ahh, oh, the furrowed brow,” Magnus couldn’t help himself from interjecting, taking a step forward with a too wide smile and overly exaggerated expressions. “Maryse must be recruiting you for something… unseemly.”

The corner of Alec’s lips twitched for a millisecond. 

He took a breath, hand fluttering between them in the air as he stammered, “I, listen, Magnus, I… I wish that I could… I just… I don’t know what…” The words landed clumsily, tumbling past his lips in a mess he couldn’t contain or figure out how to make sense of.

Magnus wordlessly raised a finger to Alec’s lips, watching the way his gaze flickered down to it. “I understand,” he said softly, watching the delighted smile that stretched the shadowhunter’s features as he drew his finger away.

Magnus leaned over, acutely aware of the fact Alec was watching him in some capacity, before he offered Alec his glass once more.

“Stay for just one more drink?” He could see the indecision, the longing that crossed Alec’s features at that. That he wanted to stay and share a drink and converse as opposed to whatever scheme Maryse had cooked up she wanted to drag her son into. “And then decide.”

Magnus held his breath as Alec hesitated, a silent war all to present on his face as he debated with himself. For a moment, he feared that he’d stepped too far.

“Yeah,” Alec breathed with a jerky nod and a growing smile. “Yeah, um, that sounds nice.”

It wasn’t until the next morning, with exchanged pleasantries, the dull pound in both their skulls as they shifted in some intricate dance around each other thatAlec pulled back, Magnus sighing heavily.

It wasn’t until Alec made his way for the door that Magnus couldn’t stop himself, not now, not after the airy feeling deep into his bones, lighter than he’d felt in _decades._

Magnus couldn’t help but twist to follow him with his gaze, watching Alec as he headed for the exit.

“Alexander?” The name sounded impossibly louder in the air. Alec paused in the doorway, turning to look back at him. Magnus cleared his throat, twirling his hand around once, twice, before: “If you- ever want to see me again. My door’s always open.” His lips quirked once. “You do have my _number,”_ he teased.

Alec nodded once. “Yeah, uh. Yeah. Right,” he smiled, something small he tried to hide before he glanced back one more time. “Thank you.”

The sincerity knocked whatever air was left out of Magnus’s lungs before the door opened and closed and Alec was gone.

Wordlessly, he couldn’t help but hope. That Alec would take him up on his offer, wondering when Magnus would see him next. Now that Magnus Bane had gotten a glimpse at Alec he couldn’t help but yearn to see more.

* * *

“You told me that I was more than just a pretty face,” Alec brought up one evening. He shifted in his seat. “That- that’s true about you too, isn’t it?”

Magnus didn’t want to think too hard about how they’d got here: here being in his loft once more, sharing drinks after a long day. Magnus had a series of back to back clients, all related to local downworlder conflicts. In the spur of the moment, he’d texted something briefly to Alec and after many minutes of what he presumed to be intense internal debating, Alec had asked if that open door offer was still open.

“I’m not quite sure what you mean,” Magnus deflected easily, leaning back with a charming smile.

“You care about people. A lot more than you should, and that’s the thing people seem most incapable of seeing about you,” Alec said slowly, brow furrowed in an almost troubled look. “It’s hard to care about people when they tend to hurt you for it.”

(It was an observation forged by _knowledge_ , the kind that burned into your mind and clung to your every breath. The kind of knowledge that could only be held by understanding. Of having lived it yourself. And maybe Alec scarcely knew Magnus, maybe he’d met him less than a handful of times but for some bizarre reason, the same way Magnus made sense of his ramblings, Alec _understood_. In a way he never ever did, scarcely even with those he’d known for years. For even if he couldn’t read the reactions, the humor, the things that always passed him by, he _saw_ Magnus.

The true Magnus. Beneath the glamour and glitter and deflection, he saw the heart of Magnus Bane and who he truly was, and kept watching.)

_That_ was veering sharply into painfully accurate territory, and Magnus huffed a desperate laugh. “I think this is at _least_ a third meeting sort of conversation.”

Alec sat up straighter, something pained flickering across his expression as his face twisted into an unconscious grimace. “Er, right. Sorry, that was,” he clenched and unclenched his hands, looking away. “Sorry.”

Magnus felt a stab of something almost guilty, amidst the wavering confusion. 

“What was it you were working on when I came in?” Alec questioned, and Magnus… _blinked_ , letting his curiosity get the better of him.

“The potion?” He let a little bit of his surprise slip into his voice. Alec looked at him, nodding once. Magnus cocked a head. “Why do you want to know?”

“Was I interrupting anything important?” Alec asked first.

Magnus huffed a laugh, more amused than anything. His lips twitched and he shook his head. “Nothing I’d really be missing,” he teased.

“Aren’t some potions more fickle than others?” Alec shifted to face him, eyes bright and inquisitive, looking genuinely interested. While sense told Magnus Alec probably wasn’t, couldn’t be, he couldn’t help himself from setting his glass down as he got into what they were discussing.

Magnus trailed off, realizing once more his audience before he forced himself to swallow. “Why do you ask?”

“I liked watching you work,” Alec said with a simple sort of brutal honesty that left Magnus feeling as though he’d been struck in the chest. He froze, brain whirring to life as he tried to make sense of that. It was enough to have him lowering his hands to his lap as he tried to keep them from visibly trembling.

“Well then,” he got out roughly. “Perhaps you won’t mind hearing about what I was up to.”

(Magnus talked. He rambled about magical theory and potion making and Alec asked questions that added fuel to the fire, keen and insightful in a way that gave Magnus pause. They bounced ideas and Magnus talked until his throat was sore and their energy was dwindling, while Alec watched him talk and traded his own ideas, theories, curiosities, vibrant in Magnus’s element.

When Alec left, Magnus found he couldn’t remember the last time someone had listened to him or indulged his interests half as long as Alec had.)

* * *

Magnus Bane was born to pain and loss and tragedy. He was born to humble beginnings, the pang of hunger and dusty visions and relief at the rare cool brush of water.

Whatever else he had slipped through his fingers, lost before he had time to truly cherish it.

He was a boy when he lost his mother. His step-father had been a nightmare, the monster under the bed. His mother loved him. But _he_ never loved Magnus. His mother was sweet, a gentle spirit of laughter and memories soft in sunlight and alight in the bittersweet tang of hope. His step-father was rough hands and blows that clipped his head, leaving his vision swimming and shrinking back from sharp gestures.

(Magnus hadn’t been his name then. The tongue he spoke so old time had worn on it, the language he’d grown up on adapted into something that left a feeling of nostalgia and poignant loss.)

His mother looked into golden cat eyes and knew without a doubt what Magnus was. She was dead before he understood the weight of the world, what it meant, and left him terrified and alone.

His step-father tried to drown him, after calling a nine year old boy shaking and devastated a demon and told him he had killed his mother. Magnus burned him alive and knew without a doubt his step-father was right, that he was the very demon he was accused of being.

Magnus met the only man with eyes like his, who smiled at the young boy and took him in. His future was paved in blood and regret, but the only person he knew like him had offered him home and safety and Magnus was too young to realize just what he’d been sucked into.

He dragged himself out of hell (literally at times), and made himself. Magnus Bane. The name he took as his own. He fought every step of the way, climbed from hunger and pain and loss, from poverty to luxury step by step. He poured over magic and became one of the world’s most powerful and educated warlocks of them all.

He built himself. Magnus devoted himself to studying, to helping, to giving. He created and revolutionized magic, gathered knowledge he would carry to the Spiral Labyrinth in later years when old spells were lost. He was no healer, he was no Catarina, but he soothed hearts and aches and offered kindness in place of cruelty. For every cruel word, every horrible reality he had faced, he gave smiles and good wishes and worked so instead there could be hope.

He invented the portal and revolutionized branches of magic that had scarcely been explored, paved the path for thousands of downworlders in the future, saved countless lives.

Magnus Bane had come from pain, and he made himself into something glorious.

(There would be times for Camille’s, because, for all his power Magnus was human. Human enough, at least, that he felt and fell under traps for those who wanted to exploit his abilities instead of cherish the beautiful man beneath the dazzle of a thousand brilliant worlds. Magnus was hurt, over and over, bled and fell and ached, loved and lost and hurt, but he never stopped caring.

Even after he closed his heart down, built walls of stone to hide behind and bury the traitorous emotions that had led to him being burned and manipulated and hurt time and time again.

Except, as Ragnor would have told him, he deserved to let those walls down, and some day, someone would be worth risking it all for.

And it was.)

* * *

They stole meetings when they could. Danced around a tentative friendship, something more, built on mutual interest and attraction they never put a label too, something fragile and delicate and perfect. In their moments, they were free. 

Magnus wasn’t collapsing under the crown of being High Warlock of Brooklyn, and wasn’t weighed with the knowledge of the Circle and preparations for his people’s protection. He wasn’t mulling over hours of research or sifting through thousands of accounts, desperately trying to help anyone he could when everyone was living tragedy, experiencing their pain and trauma when no amount of work could undo the agony being forged. Magnus wasn’t drowning with the weight of his compassion, to give and give and give without one breath _taking_.

Alec wasn’t trapped in crushing expectation, the web of pain and disappointment he faced at every turn when he slipped, fell, was human. Alec could breathe and laugh and smile without existing for someone else, a shadow of someone who had not let himself be not broken by the weight of all he sought to protect. He was a shadowhunter, a warrior, and even when he felt like he was nothing, could be nothing, he knew he could forge on for his siblings, live and breathe for them.

And in their moments, they could consider what stood between them and find joy not only in each other, but _themselves_.

* * *

“You know you don’t have to do that,” Magnus told him quietly one evening.

Alec blinked owlishly at him from behind his glass. His hair was delightfully ruffled, fluffed up strands of hair peeking into his eyes in a way that didn’t completely mask them, but spoke of a casualness, a trust for the slight disarray of being in Magnus’s world.

“Have to do what?” He asked. His lips were still downturned slightly, the remains of a grimace from when he’d taken a sip of the cocktail Magnus had offered. His words echoed in Magnus’s ears, despite the clear signals it was not. From the way Alec had to screw up his face to muster another sip, forcing himself to finish a drink he didn’t even want.

“You can tell me the truth, Alexander,” Magnus let a little of his exasperation slip into his voice, even if he tried to keep his features soft. “You can tell me if you don’t like something and I’ll change it. I want this to be as enjoyable for you as it is for me.”

Alec stiffened, shoulders tensing around him as he tore his gaze away. “It’s fine,” the lie in his words was blatantly obvious. “It’s- I don’t mind.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow, letting a little of his disbelief slip into his words. “You don’t mind being uncomfortable? That’s something I find a little hard to believe.”

Alec let out a breath, something heavy and weighted. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

Magnus set his glass down, hard, on the table, rising to his feet to sweep over to Alec’s side. “Alec,” he said carefully, making sure to allow for as little eye contact as he could, not wanting to underlie his point with more discomfort. “You are never a bother to me. I asked you here because I enjoy having you, and your presence is never anything less than a pleasure.”

He paused to let the words sink in. Alec blinked slowly before looking at him. His eyes never really met his, tracking his face in a way that suggested he was meeting a forcibly ingrained expectation rather than natural instinct, comfort in the motion.

“I make drinks because I want people to enjoy them,” Magnus said simply. “I enjoy finding what people like. I enjoy drinks and a good cocktail, but that doesn’t mean everyone does. That’s okay. If you don’t like something, you’re allowed to tell me. I want you to tell me.”

“I can’t- it’s fine. You shouldn’t have to go to all that work,” Alec protested weakly, shaking his head. “I’m- I’m used-” He bit his lip hard, cutting off his words and clearing his throat awkwardly, hands jerking in his lap with the urge to skirt around him.

_I’m used to it._

Magnus let out a breath. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised. Judging from Shadowhunters’ tastes, the bland colors of the Institutes, the drab walls and untouchable aura, they weren’t exactly welcoming people. More than that, as an institution, their lack of progression was well known. Bad enough Alec was gay, a secret that he had to hold close to his chest, but his obvious differences were enough to have them eying him warily.

He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew that. Because Alec grew up with the nephilim, the same ones he was terrified to know of his sexuality. Magnus had always thought Alec would’ve had to face more than his fair share of poor treatment. He doubted shadowhunters offered an abundance of rich meals or cuisine to swear by. He had no doubt they treated food like anything else: a necessity, fuel to keep running, something that you could live off of but not necessarily enjoy.

(Maryse and Robert seemed more the type to shut down Alec for his ‘peculiarities’, force him into uncomfortable behaviors for the sake of some bullshit standard of normality rather than giving their child what he wanted, what he needed: safety and unconditional love.)

“I want you to be comfortable here,” Magnus told him softly. “I want to find something you like. If you tell me you don’t like alcohol, I can summon you something else up in an instant. I just want you to know the offer is always open. You’re free to grab a drink with me whenever you like.”

Alec let out a heavy breath. “I don’t want anyone to have to go to all that trouble for me,” there was a tight control over his voice, something bitter and worn. “I don’t- I don’t want to put anyone through all that. I can... manage.” _I always have._

“Alec. You could give me a coffee order with 20 unique modifications and I would not fault you for any of them. I would not resent you or our time together because time with you is time well spent. No one should make you feel uncomfortable for your own thoughts and tastes,” Magnus let his fingers flutter against Alec’s cheek, drawing up just below his eye. Alec’s eyes fluttered shut, leaning in to the touch like he ached for it. “You’re allowed to feel, Alec.”

Alec didn’t move, scarcely breathed. There were words written across his face, a history, a lifetime of desperate longing for such things to be true, tentative hope, disbelief and resignation to the sadness twisting beneath his visage. Magnus had learned more about Alec Lightwood in their time together than he thought was possible. He wanted to become an expert, fluent in the subtle language of Alec Lightwood, his expressions and words and emotions, for every one Magnus saw he found impossibly more tantalizing.

Alec was someone he couldn’t help but long for like he hadn’t anyone for centuries, for long enough he didn’t have a damn clue how to remember by now.

Alec _wanted_. Magnus wanted nothing more than to shape the world to give him all his desires.

(Magnus ached. And in his own faltering way, Alec longed for nothing more than to provide every snippet of happiness, piece together every piece he could, to bring Magnus a little of the joy Alec knew he deserved.)

“I don’t know how,” the words were ragged and startled Magnus out of his thoughts.

Magnus bit back a snort. “No one knows how to feel. Not properly, anyway. That’s not how it works,” his grin was cheeky. “Frustrating, isn’t it?”

Alec- Alec grumbled, some incoherent sound that was delightfully sleepy, soft and fond and touched with the tugging of his lips betraying his feelings at being with Magnus. It was one of the many little moments, little noises, glimpses of Alec Lightwood he wanted to catalogue and capture in his memory.

It was easy enough to find someone attractive. But this, Alec- there were so many smaller things. Sweet, little endearing things. Fragments of Alexander Magnus wanted to draw out of him, pull all the wonderfully delightful parts of Alec into sight as soon as he felt safe enough to do so, let him shine as blindingly as Magnus was certain he would.

“It’s not always that easy,” Alec let out a frustrated breath. “It’s not just about feelings. That isn’t- it’s just, it’s easier, a lot of the time, to just… pick what sounds the most basic. It’s-” He gesticulated helplessly in the air. “Safer, than trying to find out what’s good and put it through piece by piece to find something I- _want_. That’s comfortable for me. ...it’s easier for everyone else.”

“That shouldn’t mean you have to sacrifice your own enjoyment,” Magnus said, eying him thoughtfully. Alec shouldn’t have to bite back a smile and ignore what he wanted in favor of convenience for everyone else around him.

From the moment in the summoning Circle, he’d known Alec was someone to throw himself in with reckless enthusiasm. Towards demons, come hell or high water, throwing himself between others and violence.

Alec already sacrificed so much. Was willing to part with his life so easily, to give up on himself and his hopes and dreams for the safety of others. He shouldn’t have to sacrifice in a thousand smaller ways every day, to give up the chance to find food he actually enjoyed in favor of causing the least problems for those around him.

Magnus didn’t know what it was like to be Alec. He didn’t know what tastes and textures were like for him, but there was a fury swelling in him that was all too familiar because Alec shouldn’t have to. Alec shouldn’t have to mould and rebuild himself for the comfort of other people and the prejudices, their expectations, over what he needed and the basest courtesy. Alec shouldn’t have to hide everything he was to avoid stirring up a fuss.

Alec shouldn’t have to be someone he wasn’t because who he was, the way he existed, was too much for others to comprehend. 

What would Alec Lightwood be like in another life? One where he hadn’t been put through the shadows of the Lightwoods’ presence, the coldness that filled their home, the militaristic way their parents drilled and disciplined them.

What would he be like in a life where he could be? Where Alec had never learned not to stim, where he never had to hide the fact that he was gay, that he liked boys. Where Alec was allowed to get what he wanted, where he could smile and laugh freely and not be terrified by giving away parts of himself meant to remain smothered and suffocated for fear of what they could reveal.

Magnus didn’t doubt he would be something glorious, an Alec without reservation living exactly as he was. 

But there was something undeniably beautiful about seeing Alec like this, catching the glimpses of his truest self when Magnus was keenly aware of the fact very few had this privilege. He’d love to watch that emerge further, to see what Alec was like, unshackled, drawn out to show who he was beneath everything he’d ever masked.

“So,” Magnus leaned forward with an air of theatricality, quirking a brow as a smirk stretched his features. “I won’t press if you don’t want me to, but- what have you liked in the drinks I’ve given you?”

Magnus felt silent laughter ringing in his head at the way Alec froze, the pure deer in the headlights look he wore.

“I-” Alec twisted his hand, fingers curling and uncurling as his gaze swung away. More little gestures followed; it seemed Alec was incapable of stilling the noiseless movements, the way his hands wove through the air with something pure and unfettered that had Magnus’s eyes trailing no matter how many times it saw it. “I, um. It’s- like, I-”

The stuttering was back. Magnus didn’t say a word, staying quiet as he watched the rapid emotions cycle across Alec’s face. He paused. When he turned to Magnus, his words were quiet.

“The one- you, it was a while ago, but it had a lemon with it? It was sweet. I liked it. It- if a little strong and a touch," his hands fluttered with the flickers of a grimace touching his face. "Too sour. But. Better."

Magnus blinked. Ah. That drink. He schooled his features carefully, humming. “It’s- strong,” Alec admitted hesitantly. Another check. More subdued flavors. It made sense, if Alec was as sensitive to taste as he appeared to be. Magnus could do that. 

“And a touch,” the flickers or a grimace touched Alec’s face. “Too... _Sharp_.” The last word seemed to slip past his lips without his conscious decision. Alec clamped down hard on his lip at that, as though terrified what that word in context to drink will make him sound like, but Magnus smiled at him easily.

Magnus could work with that, brain already rapidly dancing along possibilities, considering the drinks Alec had seemingly better reactions to, the points he brought up. Something simple, sweet, that wouldn’t overwhelm him. It may take a little trial and error, but Alec was more than worth the effort.

(Magnus wasn’t lying when he said he liked seeing how people reacted to his drinks. He liked seeing the fruits of his efforts, watching the delight and pleased emotions, hearing people react to his drinks. It was a thrill that he could never grow weary of, which, seeing how many centuries he’d meddled in mixology, he could say for certain.)

“I’d be willing to do it, for you,” Magnus told him softly. And he _would_.

He watched the indecision that waged on Alec’s face as he hesitated. “I-”

* * *

Alec never had words for himself. Not in his life. Even words like gay had been taken from mundanes, autistic an idea he had not yet heard. Alec only knew of the hurt that came with it. That he was wrong and not good enough and failing where everyone else succeeded, where he had to work ten times as hard to complete the same amount of work, learn to sit still and be quiet and know that he was _rude_ no matter how damn hard he tried not to be.

So in moments like these...

“I don’t know where to start,” Alec admitted. He wouldn’t know how to find what he liked- it was late and would take so much practice. Was it worth that, pestering everyone, himself, so he could have a few moments of enjoyment? It was- passable, endurable, he could- he could keep at it.

(He could live like he had before Magnus, before the idea of _more_ , but the thing was, he didn’t want to. That… was terrifying.)

Magnus, though, Magnus simply huffed a laugh that had Alec smiling in response. Magnus’s joy was something all encompassing that had his heart singing, something that had a flutter of delight in his chest he didn’t know quite what to do with. “I’m happy to explore with you, Alexander,” he mused. Perhaps that’s what they were always doing, exploring, learning, seeking connection in the most unlikely of places.

The night was quiet with laughter and samplings of a few drinks, idle conversation and looks that captured far more than words could ever express.

“I have to go,” the words dragged out of Alec’s throat, a painful sound. Magnus couldn’t mask his wince. He drew his hand back, curling his fingers tightly as he rested both hands on his lap.

  
Alec looked at him, the way he did in a way that had Magnus wanting to believe he was trying to memorize his features, the exact way he’d applied his makeup that day and the most minute details of his expression. Alec swallowed.

“But maybe… I could stay just a little longer?” He asked hesitantly, hand twitching until his fingers brushed over the top of Magnus’s hand.

Magnus couldn’t help the catch of his breath at that, the sharp inhale. His smile was blinding. “I would love that.”

* * *

Alec remembered it. How his parents would snap at him, lash out. He remembered stinging swats to his hands, the way they would hurt and burn, the way tears burned his eyes when he was finally in the safety of his room where his parents couldn’t _see_.

He remembered the way the world exploded sometimes, how the world felt catastrophic. How the world burned and sounds stabbed like needles through his ears and lights caught wrong and vibrant and painful, how colors itched in the back of his tongue and around him, how some days he wanted to press his hands against his eyes until it hurt to keep it dark and quiet and livable.

He knew when he managed to absorb it, hold it off, bite back the eruption, the cataclysm of whatever the hell he lived in until after the mission. After the conversation. After the day when he curled up on his mattress with his hands over his ears and eyes squeezed firmly shut, lights entirely out and soundless runes scribbled on the walls and still felt too much, too much, _toomuchtoomuch._

  
Alec was young. He learned quickly that the flutters of his hands, the silent song they danced that no one else could hear, the delight that wove the air between them was wrong and twisted. His chest hurt when he thought about it, some tangled web that caught in his throat and left a gaping hole he couldn’t _understand_ (because he never did, not when it came to emotions, they tickled and hurt and were raw and wrong and he could never decipher a thing about them). The delight he felt, hands blurring so fast he could hear an audible sound that sang right like the world had gone golden and alight, sparkling with something pure, was bad.

He remembered fingers stinging and sharp words that chipped until he shrank back in on himself. He remembered ‘look at me’s so hard they were a blow to the chest, a physical wound that had him reeling. He remembered the ever present itch that followed him everywhere, the dull pang behind his eyes as he lifted his gaze, and without fail, _looked._

His parents hadn’t hesitated. To lash out, for a harsh swat to land on his hands when Alec jerked back with a small cry until-

Until he didn’t anymore.

Until his hands no longer trembled and Alec stood tall, hands clasped behind his back, and stilled.

Until Alec was right and all the wrongness that drowned him every day, an endless sea of darkness threatening to swallow him and ached in every part of him, was _normal_.

Because Alec Lightwood smiled and repeated back the damn colloquialisms everyone expected and acted right.

Not the little boy whose hands flew up and down in a blur who didn’t meet eye contact and faltered with his words.

Alec breathed.

And why did it feel like so much of a chore?

* * *

“How is being coy different than being cryptic?” Alec asked him seemingly out of nowhere. The two of them were still sprawled on Magnus’s couch, Alec with a glass in hand (perhaps having had a touch too much to drink), Magnus trying desperately to keep his mask of calm. Alec had a way of undoing him already, something deep and terrifying he impossibly yearned ever more for. Magnus paused. 

“I’m- sorry?” He posed, words lifting at the edges.

“It’s,” Alec wrinkled his nose, brows furrowed. “What’s the difference? How are you… how are you supposed to tell?” The word sounds so small, so vulnerable, in the air.

Magnus felt a stab of something else, a tangle of emotions he wasn’t sure how to decipher.

“It has to do with the intention behind it. Me being coy, which I like to think I’m good at,” he gave a little smirk here. “Was a way of trying to express my interest in you.”

Alec’s brow stayed furrowed, trying to keep his expression neutral. Magnus let out a breath. 

He lifted his chin, being bold, because he couldn’t be anything but when he asked. “Would it help if I were more straightforward?” Magnus asked. His hand fluttered up to fiddle with his ear cuff. “I thought I was being plenty obvious, but- if you want me to state my intentions more clearly, I can help with that.”

“It’s not that,” Alec shook his head, expression twisting. “It’s- hard. For me, sometimes. To understand what’s going on. I could tell… you were interested.” His cheeks flushed deliciously at that, a growing smile on his face he tried to muffle.

He cleared his throat, all the firm presentation of power Alexander Gideon Lightwood seemed to level effortlessly dropping in these painfully open moments of vulnerability. An equal amount of power hidden in a misleading package.

“But it was hard to understand everything… you meant and were saying. It’s hard for me to understand things if they’re not- honest. I’m not- I don’t mean you’re _dishonest_ it’s just- people use words they don’t mean a lot and it can be hard for me to tell what they’re trying to say if they don’t just-”

“Say it outright,” Magnus concluded. There was a breathless, disbelieving laugh there, something that lit up Alec’s face in a soft touched awe that had Magnus’s heart fluttering in his chest.

“Right,” Alec breathed with a small nod.

Magnus smiled, letting his hand brush against Alec’s as he reached out to take his glass with a mirroring smile. “I can do that.”

* * *

Sometimes Magnus remembered. The heat of Edom’s flames upon his skin, the taste of its magic and its flames on his tongue, the power a singular look from his father’s eyes could hold. He remembered a little boy with shaking hands, cat eyes glowing with no idea how to conceal. He remembered pain and death and fire, the world burning at his fingertips as that too small boy looked up as his father with hope.

The way Asmodeus squeezed a little too tight when placing a hand on his shoulder, the way his touch burned like a permanent brand on his soul.

(He remembered the awful things he did. He remembered screams and fire and desperation, yearning for one soft look.

One proud smile.

And finding that, twisting the features of a demon who was the first to extend “kindness” to Magnus in so many years.)

Some nights he still woke in a cold sweat, shaking, and had to pace out to the balcony. Wait for one of the cats to curl around his ankles as he stared out at Brooklyn’s skyline, taking in shuddering breaths as he knew he wouldn’t sleep for quite some time.

* * *

“We can’t carry on like this,” it’s a confession. “Shadowhunters and nephilim- if the Clave doesn’t recognize their mistakes, we... deserve judgment.”

Magnus was close enough Alec could feel his breath, and his eyes were dragged down to the warlock’s lips. Something that had his chest yearning, an aching cry to complete the moment fully. Alec couldn’t help but itch to close the distance. Cross the fleeting space between their lips and press them together, a breath, a whisper of affection so undeniable it left its mark in the quietest of explosions.

Before he could do something that couldn’t be taken back, something that would irrefutably change the foundation of everything they’d built up, Alec drew back a touch further.

“I doubt the Clave would take too kindly to that belief,” Magnus’s head tipped ever so slightly to one side, expression gentled in a way that seemed to speak of aching fondness, something delicate that seemed as though it could shatter under the brush of any cruelty.

“I don’t care,” Alec said, and he was shocked to realize he believed it. He could never let them know he thought that, never deny the perfection he was forced to attain, but Alec genuinely meant the words he had spoken. 

No one deserved to live in fear and the Downworld, while their actions could speak something far more dangerous than the foes they’d already faced, was right in its indignation.

...

It was a bad idea. It was a horrible idea. But Magnus met Alexander Gideon Lightwood and despite everything around him screaming otherwise, he saw dark hair and a blinding smile and a confidence that blaze brighter than the fiercest sun, and he was tumbling hard and fast.

And Alec, Alec leaned in without hesitation and poured his energy into a warlock, sacrificing his strength and staring down in soft magic-kissed concern breathing the gentlest of questions. Stayed and looked after Magnus’s sofa, scrubbing blood clean and concerned over Magnus exerting himself more than necessary.

He knew they were walking a thin line, dancing between their feelings when they both stood on opposite sides of an impending war. It was only a matter of time before it all came to head.

The world seemed incapable of seeing Magnus beneath his time in the spotlight, easier to frame him as cruel and selfish when all his actions indicated otherwise. To see the kindness and suffering beyond measure he had gone through, and would go through again and again, if it could mean a moment’s reprieve for another. The world didn’t seem to see Alec beneath the shadow of his siblings, beyond his strictness that framed him only as stuck up and less intelligent than the others despite every fall he took over and over for those who scarcely noticed his sacrifice.

* * *

“My parents were in the Circle.”

It was the first thing Alec said when he entered the loft, without preamble. His voice was rough and even without looking Magnus could imagine how his shoulders shuddered with scarcely repressed trembling. Magnus froze, pausing only half a moment before sending his books to their shelves in his apothecary with a dismissive wave of his hand. Alec hadn’t known. Alec hadn’t known; that much was clear from his sudden appearance when their meetings were sparse, carefully picked and reserved for delicate situations. How he reacted to this, his emotions, was another beast entirely and Magnus couldn’t stop the swelling sense of dread that rose with it, catching in his throat like a physical weight. He forced himself to take a steadying breath before he turned to face Alexander.

Alec looked disheveled, far messier than he normally appeared, hair ruffled and clinging to his forehead with sweat. He was panting still, and Magnus briefly wondered if Alec had run all the way here, to _Brooklyn_ , to safety and Magnus as soon as he could, desperate to find a listening ear to rely on in the face of the world shattering news. It was a thought that thrilled him, just a little, a flicker beneath the crushing worry that overwhelmed everything he felt on Alec’s behalf.

Eyes dark and tired, something broken was clinging to his countenance that hadn’t been there before; something shattered and skittish and terrified. Beneath that was a cold cut rage, something dark in its fury that reminded Magnus precisely what Alec was: shadowhunter, nephilim, slayer of demons. This, though, was the righteous fury of angels, indignation on behalf of the downworlders, Magnus’s people, _Magnus_.

Alec’s face crumpled, voice all but broken when he spoke. “They always told us it was our fault we had such poor standing in the Clave.”

Magnus swallowed hard against the reflexive fury that sparked, and wordlessly stepped forward, lifting a hand in silent question. 

“No, Alec,” when Magnus spoke his voice was raw and tempered with an old weariness. “It was never you.”

Maryse and Robert had made their fate. His hand fluttered at his side, a phantom itch of searing pain and tragedy and the burn of the Whitelaws’ final breaths ringing in his ears. 

For whatever else occurred, Magnus didn’t know if he could ever think of Maryse or Robert Lightwood without remembering the pure terror of their reign. The way they and the rest of the Circle had been willing to massacre, not only willing but _wanting_ to eradicate the downworld. To wipe them out without hesitation in their desperate faith of Valentine, a madman calling for genocide that had killed countless downworlders. A pursuit that had led to the disappearance of so many downworlders, the loss of countless lives.

There was no way for the Lightwoods’ hands to be clean after that.

Alec was shaking, looking all but as though he were about to sway on his feet. It seemed dangerous almost, the tension, the weight on his shoulders that had a bubble of alarm swelling in Magnus’s throat as he itched to reach out, to heal, to _fix_. He did one of the things he could do.

“Sit down,” Magnus told him, enfusing as much gentle power into the command as he could. Alec hesitated, gaze flittering around before wordlessly he settled into the order. He was shaking, muscles trembling from overexertion and Magnus crouched down in front of him.

“May I?” He asked with a hand gesture he knew by now Alec would recognize. There was a hum of agreement and a nod so, letting out a breath, Magnus put a hand on Alec’s knee in wordless reassurance.

“Magnus, I can’t-” The words were strangled in his throat, and Magnus frowned. 

Silently, he raised the protective wards about the safety of the loft, infusing a touch more magic than necessary to keep them up. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone stumbling in like this, with Alec’s eyes wide and breaking, trembling in front of him in a vulnerability so scarcely expressed.

“I didn’t-” Alec was panting fiercely, and Magnus was beginning to wonder if it had nothing to do with exertion. The words clawed out of his throat like they were something painful, as though speaking was a monumental effort that came like dragging glass up his throat and spitting the words like they ached. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Magnus stopped, considering, and let out a long breath. “They’re here.” It shouldn’t be all that surprising. For all Alec was acting Head of the Institute, he was just that- _acting_. Of course the Lightwoods would be called in to oversee in the wake of all the damage that had been done in such a short amount of time. The Circle, the complex Downworld-Shadowhunter relations, Alec’s parabatai and Clary winding up in trouble at every other turn.

“Maryse is,” Alec croaked out. Maryse, not mom or mother, and Magnus filed that away for later, that Alec’s first instinct when so clearly out of it was to refer to her by name rather than with familiarity.

“You don’t have to speak, Alec,” Magnus told him softly. 

Alec shook his head adamantly, breathing hard.

“I do,” the words were painfully small, filled with years of pain that Magnus felt searing into his soul. Because Alec _did_ \- Alec had to be competent and capable and pretend to understand the thousands of rules that passed him by. To understand a sea of blank faces and utter confusion that impacted every interaction in a way that felt as though he were screaming into space he could never truly comprehend.

It was something that left Magnus aching, seeing the world written on Alec’s face. The years of confusion, repressing his being and sexuality and hope for joy and life as surely as he was capable.

Alec yanked his hand up, trembling, stopping himself and returning his hand to his lap. He’d wanted to hit himself, Magnus found with a sudden stab of realization. Alec was very much not okay, or fine, or everything else he might try to protest.

“I have to,” Alec forced the words out, faltering and breathy. “I have to talk and work and I have to act like- like everyone else does.”

Magnus placed his hands on top of Alec’s, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin and the tension that had them vibrating something painful. His hands clenched into tight fists, digging his nails into his palm, but the trembling stuttered under the weight of Magnus’s touch and he squeezed gently.

He shook his head ever so slightly and, despite the slight catch to his voice his words, when he spoke, were firm and clear. “Not here, Alexander.”

Not here. Because as Alec already felt an itch in the back of his mind, here he was safe. Here, in the bubble between them and the world, Magnus and Alec could be. They could stare into each other’s eyes and smile softly and Alec was allowed to be everything he’d been taught not to be. Here he was safe to break under the weight of the world, and Magnus, terrifyingly, knew without a doubt he would catch him.

“Not here.”

And Alec let go.

* * *

Later, there would be time for Magnus to analyze the fact that the one place, the one person, Alec felt safe to go to on the brink of the meltdown was Magnus’s. That the only one he trusted to see him was a warlock he’d known for a few months. 

There would be time for him to decipher how he felt about the fact that he was so trusted Alec would let a downworlder see him at his most vulnerable, shaken and breaking at the edges, and trusted Magnus not only to not take advantage but to piece him together at the end of the night.

For now, though, there was time to focus on Alec, and only Alec. His thoughts were an endless stream of _Alec, Alec, Alec_ like the world’s most beautiful song as he breathed in and loved.

The most treacherous feeling in a time like this.

And Magnus watched, magic humming around him, a protective shield between Alec and the rest of the world, as Alec broke.

* * *

The thing about it was Alec shuddered apart quietly. When he broke, it was silent. Terrifyingly so. It was quiet when the world exploded. When Alec dug his palms into his eyes, trembling, a cacophony of sound vibrating into his soul that swallowed him whole. His breath was shaky, the only sound audible in the air.

It was internal, screaming and pounding directed in at himself, breaking only himself, tearing apart every emotion he had in him and only damaging himself. 

Magnus found it morbidly fitting in a way. A perfect reflection of Alec’s natural inclination. And, if he could, he would be the one who quieted the world. (He _was_ , became the anchor, the one that kept Alec grounded in the wave of feelings that swallowed him whole. He was the one who kept him safe and comfortable and steady as he fought silent wars in his head.

And when Alec came out of it, he felt warm in a way he never had after a meltdown. Happier than he ever had been after one of these, despite the tiredness and faint ache to his body and the aching dryness of his throat.)

Magnus hadn’t stopped, fingers silently pulling through his hair, scratching his scalp in a rhythmic motion that had Alec visibly settling into his skin and leaning into the contact greedily.

Magnus held out a glass of cold water and Alec blinked slowly, squinting up at him as though it took monumental effort to decipher that one effort. “Drink,” Magnus told him softly, seeing no purpose in making it more complicated and convoluted than necessary.

Alec took the glass and didn’t sip, staring at it for a moment. “Why?” He asked.

Magnus shrugged, keeping his words light and easy. “I figured you might be thirsty.” He twisted his ring along his finger, eying his immaculately prepared nails and the ombre of purples to blues that paired with the indigo streaks in his hair and the blue eyeshadow that lacked the usual glitter he might pair with it. He wasn’t sure if sparkling would be too much trouble for Alec to process at the moment. 

“Not that,” he shook his head, voice ragged. “Why did you- why did you do all that for me?” 

Magnus sucked in a sharp breath, hearing the question even Alec himself wasn’t entirely aware of. The tiny, plaintive confused voice. _Why do you care about me?_ It struck a chord deep within him, ringing dully in his ears and aching with it. It was all he could do not to reel back in disbelief. Because Alec, beautiful, wonderful, _compassionate_ Alec couldn’t fathom that anyone could care about him.

It was a notion that seemed almost laughable. As if Magnus could do anything but, despite all reason screaming otherwise. That he could look at Alec and not care for the man who took his hand and told him to take his strength, offered it freely, looked down at Magnus with utter softness and eyes stripped bare in a way he could tell only the truly privileged were allowed to see, and asked if Magnus was alright. Who stayed late to clean blood from Magnus’s sofa by hand, scoffed as though it were laughable to allow Magnus to further exert himself when he could help.

“I wanted to help you,” Magnus told him, speaking slowly. “You came to me, scared and overwhelmed and hurting. I wanted to do what I could to alleviate that. ...did I do anything wrong? Was there something you would have preferred I didn’t do, or did I handle the situation-”

“That’s not it,” Alec cut him off. When Magnus looked up, the shadowhunter’s gaze stayed locked on his slightly trembling glass. “You- no one’s ever done that for me before.”

Magnus wasn’t quite certain if that was because no one had ever offered help or because Alec had refused to let anyone else see his overtly autistic traits. For all his faults, no one could accuse Alec for being poor at masking. (Though that could scarcely be seen as a fault, because there had never been anything wrong with Alec in the first place, autistic, gay, words he had to despise because they made him irrevocably different and wrong in the eyes of the Clave- his parents.)

“Well,” Magnus injected as much false lightness into the words as he could, smile soft as he twisted his cuff. “I’m happy to be the first.”

“I’ve never,” Alec faltered. “I’ve never felt like this before.” He wasn’t sure what he was referring to- the fact that he’d never felt this good after a breakdown like this, the feelings stirring in his chest the way he’d never felt for anyone before Magnus. Magnus had a way of stripping him bare, until he felt seen down to his very soul just by being in the presence of the warlock and leaving him not only seen, but accepted, valued, _important._

Magnus wet his lips. His words lifted up uncertainly, twisting as he confessed, “Neither have I.” Whatever it was, growing between them, the push and pull and dance, Magnus wanted to learn the steps a thousand times over, hummed strong enough it threatened to overwhelm them. Magnus didn’t know what it was between them. They had passed attraction at this point, this- affection, this mutual emotion was something neither dared put to name but knew with cold certainty it was there.

It was terrifying. The weight of what Alec had come to mean in so little time, when unspoken between them was the fact of their opposing sides. Of the tensions on the rise, the sadness that lingered in their eyes when they thought the other was not looking, the knowledge of their peoples and what they represented for both sides.

Here they could pretend. A little while longer. A few moments brighter. And they could pretend not to be weary and drained and shattering under the knowledge they could irrevocably not be.

* * *

It shouldn’t have been anything. Days later, any time later, if someone were to ask him what they had been talking about Magnus wouldn’t be capable of remembering. All he’d remember is the soft half-smile that had been curling his features, and the way Alec’s hands had, for less than a handful of moments, begun to flap.

Then Alec-

Alec’s hands snapped to a halt, jerking behind his back as he froze. His eyes snapped up to Magnus, the same expression he wore when something hurt, squinting as though Magnus’s gaze was the sun and it burned to look upon. His sides were heaving, terror and

“I can- I should go,” Alec was panicking, breath caught in his throat as he flung a desperate look over his shoulder. Magnus was miles out of his depth as he took a half-step forwards.

And Alec _flinched._

It was something small, so, so small, but the moment it happened Magnus’s feet were rooted to the floor. Alec froze, eyes wide as guilt and fear and apology slipped across his face in equal measure.

“Alec,” he breathed.

“I- I didn’t,” Alec stammered desperately, eyes pleading with Magnus to _understand_ and Magnus _did_. He had seen that expression, worn it too many damn times to count, and he knew with painful certainty what this was. “I- I wasn’t.”

“Alec,” Magnus slowly lowered both hands, keeping them in Alec’s line of sight so he could follow every motion Magnus did make. “Can I come closer?”

Alec stared. For several tense moments, Magnus was scared he would bolt. Stumble back to the New York Institute like this, and there were a thousand ways that could go bad Magnus could count on the spot, but he didn’t. Slowly, he nodded. Once.

“Yeah,” it was a breath so small he scarcely heard it.

Magnus stepped forward slowly, the click of his boots audible in the deafening silence between them.

_I understand, Alec,_ his heart screamed as he stared back at the shadowhunter. His magic itched within him, an invisible presence yearning to reach out to wrap around Alec, to protect him. Magnus couldn't deny it that, not as he watched it slip past and sink protection and care and comfort in a way he wouldn't know. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or Magnus’s imagination, for half a moment, it seemed as though Alec sagged into it, tipping his head back with a softer breath.

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Magnus told him instead. The words were soft, desperate, and painfully small in the air but more than anything he needed Alec to know that.

Alec’s lips quirked in some bitter humor before he dropped it. “I know Magnus,” and the expression he adopted was so soft, so earnest, Magnus knew he believed it.

Magnus heaved a silent sigh of relief at that and his eyes slipped shut for an instant. He opened his eyes, and swallowed hard.

“We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” His voice was rough when he spoke, quiet in the stillness. “But I’ll be here, if you ever do. And I need you to understand I would never turn you away for this, not you, or- or anyone. You’re my-” _Friend_ burned in his throat before he could breathe it. “You’re important to me, Alec. And as much as I wish I could convince you you’re worthy of everything I know you deserve, I know I can’t do that alone.

Alec shifted from foot to foot, fingers twitching and his lips pulling back to reveal in almost snarl at himself when he caught it before his hands clasped firmly behind his back, and, when he dropped his head back he shut his eyes tightly.

Alec dragged in a heavy, shuddering breath. His eyes were dark, intense, and his voice held enough power that Magnus felt the air knocked from his lungs under the force of the tone despite its softness. “When I was a kid, my parents- my mother, mostly- would swat at me when I… when I moved my hands like that. Knock my hands or...” He cut himself off and his lips curled, near grimacing. “They’d hit me. To get me to stop.”

There was a chuckle there, humorless, while Magnus felt his blood run cold in sheer horror. “It was effective, if nothing else.”

Magnus’s ears were ringing dully and he felt rooted to the spot, ice filling his veins as he stared at Alexander Gideon Lightwood. Recalling the twists, the fidgets, the catch of his hands. How they gestured in the air more freely when he’d shared drinks with Magnus, the way he dug his thumb into his palm and clenched his hands behind his back in a physical way to trap them from moving. (For a moment, he tried to imagine Alec Lightwood, messy hair tumbling into his eyes with laughter in his eyes as he let his hands flap, rapidly fluttering in the air before flinching black in unmistakable horror when Maryse entered.)

“Alexander,” it was an exhalation, a desperate breath, and Magnus shook his head fiercely, near overcome with emotion. _“Alexander.”_ He choked on the name.

He was struck with memories of a far off time, centuries and centuries ago, of a little boy with yet unseen cat eyes playing in the gardens with his mother dreading the moment the shadow of his step-father fell over him. Of pain and fear and rationalization and long buried emotions that swelled up in his throat and threatened to suffocate him.

It took him a moment to compose himself, brain swimming with processing that, the idea of Alec being more than just verbally berated and scolded into denying something as natural to himself as breathing, but being hit for it. Magnus raked his hand through his hair for once with little care to what it did to how he’d styled it.

“You never deserved that.”

Alec’s winced ever so slightly, lips parting for a damning moment before he swallowed hard and distinctly didn’t look at Magnus’s face, afraid of what would be found there.

Magnus felt a cold fury swell in his chest, something that had his head tipping up in challenge. “You didn’t, Alec,” he bit out. “You never- you never should have had to go through that. Ever.”

Alec grimaced, something sharp and disbelieving before he looked at Magnus (not in his eyes, Magnus could tell now, but enough to see him).

“I- Magnus, it’s-” he stammered, hands flying through the air a few moments, gesturing the space between them jerkily before he dropped them to his sides stiffly.

“Don’t,” Magnus’s voice ached, bleeding and raw and his eyes were old. “Please Alec, don’t excuse it. Don’t lie to yourself. Even if you can’t believe it yet, it is a lie.” Any parent who laid a hand on their child deserved to be held accountable.

“Magnus, you can’t-” his breaths were shuddery. Alec made a strangled sound, one hand jerking in the air in front of him despite his best attempts to find something else to fuel his restless energy into. “You can’t-”

And Magnus knew. Magnus knew the same way he could tell so many things about Alec Lightwood, wordlessly, finish sentences and conversations as though thoughts leapt between them in a shared flame.

_You can’t still want me._

(Because Magnus couldn’t, Alec rationalized, Magnus couldn’t see how broken and twisted and weird he was and still be interested, Because interest was as fleeting as it was treacherous. Because no one could want him. He’d never been deserving of affection, love, emotions he ought to earn but for the life of him couldn’t.)

Magnus snarled a vicious curse under his breath, twisting himself completely away to close his eyes and try to get his breathing under control. He let out a final shuddering breath before wordlessly he turned to face Alec. All pretenses dropped, face open and stripped off all deceptions.

“Alec,” he breathed. “ _Alexander._ There is nothing wrong with you.”

He paused, his own hand twitching in the air, twirling his ring so he could feel the grounding pinch as it caught on his skin.

“After my warlock mark showed,” the words sounded heavy in the air and Magnus forced himself to swallow. “My _demon_ mark.” The words curled bitterly on his tongue. “My mother killed herself. My step-father… it wasn’t the first time he laid hands on me, but it was the first he actively tried to kill me. He tried to drown me in the river behind our home.”

“The point is, I know what it’s like,” he crossed the distance between in two long strides, leaving his face raw and painfully open as he silently pleaded with Alec above all else to understand, to heed him. “Maybe not exactly what you endured, but I understand. I know how hard that is and I-”

He broke off with emotion, and he was choked when he spoke again. “I never would have wanted that for you. Not for anyone, but- you’re important to me.”

“You can’t help the way you were born,” Alec told him seriously, a reverence in his eyes that had Magnus biting something sharper.

“Neither can you,” he whispered. Alec stiffened, but didn’t deny it, didn’t flinch away.

Magnus watched silently as Alec’s face was marred with pain and disbelief and age old memories. (When had been the last time? His chest screamed. When was the last time they’d done it? Had it been before he met Magnus, after? Had it been years or months, a decade or weeks?)

“Promise me,” Magnus exhaled sharply, but his eyes were nonetheless intense when he looked at Alec. “Promise me, Alexander. If they ever hurt you, if they ever lay their hands on you ever again, you _come here._ ”

Alec was tense. His shoulders had drawn up around him, a physical shield as he braced himself against the war words and backhanded blows could catch. The defensive posture that screamed years of history, one Magnus ached for and hated (and Christ how had anyone expected followers of a genocidal maniac to be decent parents?)

He could see the question, in the furrow of his brow and waiting to fall from his lips. The why, why did Magnus care, why did he want Alec, why was he important? And that hurt far deeper than any blow could land because that doubt, that all encompassing self disregard said that it was believed. (Whatever whispers, whatever demons followed his step, shadows haunting the back of his mind had been believed so truly Alexander couldn’t see his own worth. Couldn’t see the value he held, others held, for him.)

“You’ve never let anyone else look after you,” Magnus said with a sad smile, a certainty. For every aspect of Alexander Lightwood he was drawn to, enamored by in the intelligent, politically savvy, remarkably informed shadowhunter, there was no denying the way he took the weight of the world on his shoulders. Alec Lightwood looked after everyone but himself, breathing and lurching to the protection of others with scarcely a thought toward himself.

He placed a hand on Alec’s arm, close enough that he could see each detail of Alec’s face, inches from him. Take in the crinkles at the edges of his eyes as he bit his lip, the weariness that clung to him after days of work, the hesitation lined about his dropped gaze.

“I’m happy to be the first,” he breathed. It was a confession, a strangling, lethal one. Because Magnus wouldn’t mind, if he was the one he got to see the fractured pieces behind the veil, got to offer reassuring touches and silent support and offer Alec a world he’d never seen before.

_Let me protect you. Let me look after you,_ his heart screamed.

Little did he know the same melody, the same tune, echoed back at him, walled beneath his growing fear but Alec ached with it the same. Longing to lift his coat and soothe the aches Magnus never wanted anyone to see, the pain of a thousand lives lost and gone wrong and abuses long gone but never forgotten.

“I promise,” Alec’s voice was rough.

Magnus hugged him, then. Leaned up on his toes to pull Alec tightly into a hug and bury his face against that blessed deflect rune. Breathe in and assure himself Alec was real, and safe beneath him. Alec hesitantly let a hand drift up before he wrapped his arms around Magnus and sagged into it.

They stayed there for far longer than they knew how to recall.

Extracting himself from Alec's arms was near painful. It was equally apparent neither of them particularly wanted to even as they drew back. Magnus lingered closer than was normal, a hand on his shoulder, head tilted up close enough he could see Alec's lips far clearer than he ever had before, feel his breath.

Magnus swallowed and paused, uncertain how to broach the subject and his words were hesitant. “You’re not the only child your parents had. Was it only you who they-”

Alec was adamant as he jerked back, head shaking firmly just once. “They _haven’t_. I wouldn’t let them. I- I was the oldest and they only ever… went after me like that, I made sure of it. They- they haven’t hurt them, not- not physically.”

They both knew words could destroy in other ways, a bane and brand upon a heart, plucking insecurities into a tangled web of string, emotions suffocating in the disarray of agony sharp words could cause. Words could be their own weapon, a blade fiercer than any blow and sharp enough to wound permanently. 

But Angel if Alec hadn’t tried, fought like hell, to make sure that all the physical violence and the worst of the punishments fell solely on Alec’s head. (His responsibility, he reminded himself, they were his. Izzy and Alec and Max were his to protect and look after. It only made sense as a leader he should take responsibility for their actions.)

He thanked the Angel that Jace was so loved (despite the desperate curl, the ache that he was never enough to measure up, to step close to his parabatai) and that Max had grown up so differently than them. If nothing else, Izzy, Jace, Max, they had Alec.

(Sometimes, a plaintive voice in his mind he tried so desperately to banish asked him where they had been for him. It wasn’t worth dwelling on. It wasn’t worth considering. Not when they had it, and Alec- Alec’s path had already been paved.)

His story already had a conclusion. There was no straying from it. It was just a matter of how he got there, and how long it took.

* * *

...

* * *

There were some things they would never be permitted. But God if Alec didn’t yearn for them. Such as this.

“I can’t,” His voice rose and fell with it, swelling between them and cracking with emotion. He shook his head furiously and Magnus couldn’t help but take a stunned step backwards when he noticed tears in Alec’s eyes, flying free with the violent shake of his head. All the fight seeped out of him and Alec dropped, hunching over. His voice was quiet, shattered, the same way the pain in Magnus’s chest screamed with it. “I can’t, Magnus. I- Angel knows I wish I could, but…”

Magnus, expression worn and wearied, the epitome of years of disappointment, resigned to the abandonment and the way Alec tugged back the moment he pushed another step closer, didn’t even deign to sigh. 

Alec felt his voice crack, knew how small it was when he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Magnus regarded him with an old expression, looking a thousand miles away but just as broken, twisted, tired and despondent as Alec felt the pain stretching in his chest. He was a king perched atop a lonely throne, impossibly separated from those under his reign and lost to the gentlest affections, to the adoration his heart screamed for and resigned to the weight of this rejection.

Alec supposed he’d given him plenty of reason to. (A failure even with the first person he wanted to _be_ for.)

His lips curled a moment, and something sadder crossed Magnus’s expression when he spoke. “I know, Alexander.”

(They’d both pretend not to hear the crack in his voice. To see the way Alec’s fingers flutter as though he wants to reach out and take Magnus’s hand. To ignore everything standing between them, irrefutably present, screaming with them.

They pretended not to see the tears hiding in both their voices and the longing between them.)

* * *

“The Clave is announcing war with the downworld. … I- I’m not supposed to know, or let you know, but I had to warn you ahead of time.”

“Alec…”

“Magnus- I can’t. I can’t, I’m not- I can’t be here, any more. I’m not allowed.”

“Were you ever?”

“...I’m sorry.”

* * *

“Emotions are never black and white. They’re more like _symptoms_. ...You lose your breath every time they enter a room. Your heart beats faster when they walk by. Your skin tingles when they stand close enough to feel their breath. I know you feel what I feel, Alec.”

* * *

“You have a choice to make. I will not ask again.”

* * *

Jace was the golden child, blinding in his brilliance while Alec was streaks of silver, fading into the shadows with all but a breath. 

Alec was never first. He’d been second choice, final pick, the last resort. The one to fall back on if things went wrong. A contingency plan, the least wanted, unneeded. But fuck if he hadn’t wanted to pretend, for once, for one moment, that he could be. That someone could want Alec enough to pretend he was worth it, being put above all reason. That someone could want Alec enough, love him enough, for him to be first choice. For his needs to be first priority.

It was illogical and childish and needy and utterly pathetic (just as he was), but he wanted for someone to care enough like that.

No one would ever want something like that for someone like him, not Alexander Lightwood, damaged goods beyond repair.

But perhaps, for a moment, Magnus had. Then Alec had gone and destroyed that too.

(Magnus had been a breath of fresh air, a whisper of all the affection he never thought he could have, tantalizing a finger’s brush out of reach, starcrossed and tumbling deeper into the sinking abyss.)

* * *

When Alec was a child, he dreamed of someone coming to rescue him. He imagined an angel, a heroic shadowhunter, sweeping him away. Taking him to a place where he could play with Izzy without being afraid, somewhere he didn’t have to be scared and have walls feel cold and dark and like they sapped the joy out of everything they touched.

(Sometimes, in the deepest recesses of his mind, he dreamed of a warlock. Someone with magic alight at their fingertips, letting him play with their magic and keeping Izzy and him safe from all the scary things in the world. It didn’t occur to him he couldn’t be a shadowhunter if that happened, or he didn’t care enough to think about it.

Because warlocks- in the one or two times he’d overheard Maryse’s hissed whispers- seemed to be something she was afraid of. And Alec loved the idea of someone powerful enough to frighten her, the scariest person he knew, being the opposite of her. He used to sneak Clave files, odd things about the warlocks that were buried, accounts of kindness and hope and things they never wanted to see the light of day.

If warlocks weren’t bad like they said, they had to be good and kind and Alec didn’t know precisely what that was like to experience often but he wanted to find out.)

Alec closed his eyes and breathed, lived in vivid images in his head of a place where his hands fluttered and he flew, free and unchained. Where he giggled and laughed and could read as many books as he wanted and live happily.

It was a silly dream.

He’d open his eyes and climb out of bed after his morning daydreams and walk out to face the cold glares of his parents, their quiet disapproval, feel the weight of their stares, the stinging smacks he hid and took and fought like hell because there was no way he was letting them lay a hand on Izzy (and then Jace, because Jace was everything and his soul and everything he knew).

His parents didn’t love him. But they loved Jace. Robert loved Izzy. That had to be enough.

Even when his heart bled, slowly losing his soul, dripping and spilling his lifeforce and the air he breathed as his lungs shattered. They were destroying him. And he’d take it forever. He was long past the silly dreams of a warlock- god wasn’t that ironic- or angel caring enough to set him free. There wasn’t anything to set him free from. (He knew it tasted like a lie, even in the safety of his own mind.)

* * *

Magnus blinked slowly as he felt something brush against his wards. Even now, he could tell whoever it was wasn’t a threat or a danger to his people, but something hummed in a familiar way he couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

The warlock turned to continue his conversation with the others. “As I was saying, we should re-examine the Accords,” he said smoothly. “While we have no intention to sign them again, not unless they’d be willing to put us at the forefront and as equals from the beginning, they may prepare a counteroffer that-”

His eyes flitted over to his people. Whatever had entered wasn’t a threat, Magnus knew that. He would have sensed such intentions. That didn’t stop the little gasps, the hisses that echoed in the area as downworlders craned their necks to peer at whomever had entered. Magnus quirked a brow, sitting taller in his seat as he watched the leaders around him shift in their seats to get a better view.

A tall figure had entered his club, and Magnus caught a glimpse of dark hair from the man- It only took a fleeting moment, the glint of what looked almost like ink against his neck in an all too known symbol.

_Alec._

Magnus schooled his features into a mask of carefully crafted indifference, a cool professionalism, but he couldn’t stop the snag of his breath at the sight. His people parted to let the figure through, but that didn’t stop the whispers as a clearly unarmed nephilim made his way through a crowd of downworlders. Head held high, Alec silently strode across the room with a practiced pose to his step and a heavy determination in his stride.

Alec stopped and, after a beat of hesitation, Magnus met his eyes.

Alec Lightwood took a firm step forward, something damning and electric and powerful all at once, and he never once let his gaze stray from Magnus’s. (Even now, Magnus knew what that meant to him, even as it burned in his throat and set him alight with it.)

The High Warlock of Brooklyn watched, some traitorous glimmer of hope swirling in his chest, and his eyes were painfully sad. A longing so desperate it could swallow whole worlds in its grasp, screaming for him, and even now Magnus knew he wanted for Alec so badly it hurt.

Alec stopped at the base of the stairs leading to Magnus’s throne. His people stood tall around him, gaze heavy on the nephilim in their presence. Alec’s tongue flicked out to swipe at his lips and Magnus knew the softening at the edges of his eyes. (The longing caught in his chest, the one that terrified and delighted in equal measures, tore his loyalties and heart to odds as he was caught in the crossfire.) Despite the carefully controlled mask of certainty, power, there was an affection there, the same want for Magnus written across his face in all the ways only he could find.

Magnus tipped his head ever so slightly to one side, shooting an appraising glance up and down Alec’s figure. Tried not to let his gaze linger in all the ways he wanted, over the delectable way the runes stood against his skin, the way his slightly messy curls perfectly contrasted the outfit that was quite formal for dear Alexander.

“Alexander Lightwood,” and _oh_ , it hurt to say that name with such a level of indifference and coldness. He lifted his chin, eyes flaring with power, and let all other emotions fall to the side in favor of his purpose as leader.

“Magnus Bane,” the words were a breath, a whisper in the air, one Magnus could just catch and painfully damning despite their softness.

The silence was deadly, suffocating, carrying the force of a heavy blow with the force of its weight.

What are you doing here? Some plaintive part of Magnus’s chest screamed. Why here? Why him?

Without breaking eye contact, drawing a breath, Alexander Lightwood slid to the ground, dropping to his knees at Magnus’s feet. The Downworlders jolted, disbelief and astonishment freezing them in place as everyone turned to stare at the sight of a nephilim showing deference to a warlock. There were several audible gasps from behind him, voices from a few of the other leaders Magnus couldn’t begin to decipher like this. His own breath had been punched out of his lungs, mouth painfully dry and frozen as his lips parted in unveiled astonishment at the man kneeling before him in front of an entire club of people.

“Magnus Bane,” Alec’s words rang clearly through the air, looking up at him from beneath his lashes and Magnus tried very hard to ignore the sudden curl of emotion. “I come to plead the chance to offer aid and to serve your purposes, fully and truly, in the service of all those whom you protect.”

The moment the words fell from his lips power snapped to life between them, and Magnus knew until he ended the ritual that power would continue to buzz, tying him to Alexander with something that left his ears ringing and a distinct presence in his mind.

A nephilim. A _nephilim_ sank down on his knees and had begun a sacred downworld custom, swearing his service to Magnus, a downworlder when the Clave was careening towards an all out war against their people. 

The words were old as time warlocks remembered, their oath of fealty a closely guarded secret. Many downworlders had similar customs- magic weaving the bond of a Clan of vampires and an ancient ceremony performed to initiate a new werewolf into the pack. Very, very few Shadowhunters had access to the Clave’s information on these ceremonies and even fewer read of them.

The magic was binding in itself- the energy, the essence, of a person being tied by their vow to share themselves completely with another. To give up their control to serve those they swear their loyalty. Bonds could not work unless one was truly dedicated, a willing partner, and were someone to begin as the leading partner with deceitful intentions, the bonds usually broke early on and were rather unstable to begin with.

It was scarcely used, but a paramount in their culture, often only called upon in high times of crisis or when an unexpected person was to serve as an equal amongst them. 

(Some children adopted by warlocks became well versed in their politics, swearing to serve as long as they lived, and some with the sight had become prominent and well remembered figures. Warlocks had less regard for blood than nephilim, believing it was the actions, the purity of intentions, that determined someone’s worth than their bloodright.)

As such, the Clave would never dare dirty themselves with such things. Swearing fealty to the Downworld could be seen as renouncing the very angels they served, forfeiting their loyalty to the Clave. It was an archaic notion, but it was seen to be worse than lowering oneself to the very demons they slaughtered. Even if shadowhunters dared to try to gain information on the downworld, none would submit themselves to a downworld leader so completely or swear themselves to a downworlder so entirely they bound their essence together. By nature of the promise, it was impossible for an unwilling individual to swear themselves.

But here a shadowhunter was, unrelenting and without a beat of hesitation, letting the words fall from his tongue without stumbling. Magnus wondered if he had rehearsed, how many times he had practiced the vow, how much he had read and relived over and over in hopes of handling this perfectly.

Immediate whispers had broken out the moment Alec began the rite, sharp and rapid. Magnus sat taller, and he could hear the way that simple act silenced several of the murmurs. 

“I hear your plea and grant permission for you to state your request,” he spoke smoothly, and immediately the bond between them snapped into place. A steady thrum of energy, one that hummed to life, tied them irreparably and bound them to one another’s feelings and purest intentions And so it would remain until Magnus either accepted or denied Alec’s declaration of fealty.

Magnus could hear the way the magic sang between them, see the shine of energy as it danced between them. Alec’s gaze caught just over the glimmer of magic Magnus couldn’t help but be drawn towards, the swirl of colors that mixed their pure magic energies. The warlock felt a stab of some strong emotion- could Alec _see_ it? (No nephilim had ever invoked the ceremony, were they capable of seeing invisible magic, sensing it, in a bond like this?) Magnus’s analytical brain wanted to experiment further, find conclusive results, but he set his jaw and focused his attention on the ceremony.

“I offer my service and loyalty to thee, to be truthful and faithful, in the order of magic and powers that bind. I have seen the wrongs that have been done and pledge to undo them, with all the power I possess, and swear my undying loyalty to you…” The word was heavy, it was a moment before, blinking, Alec desperately added on, “and your cause.” He cleared his throat. 

Magnus huffed out a long breath. Alec- Alec was genuinely completing this ceremony, taking the vow. He was offering his loyalty to Downworld leaders, to Magnus, above his precious Clave. He was defying centuries of expectation and quite literally making history, vowing to serve the downworld in the middle of a revolution against his own people.

“I humbly ask your consideration of my allegiance, and I swear to serve to my greatest capabilities regardless of your ruling.”

Here was the part Magnus was most nervous for. It was custom for a warlock to show their power, downworlders to show their truest selves (werewolves flashing their eyes, vampires revealing their fangs).

Wordlessly, Magnus lowered his vision to see magic signatures. It was custom to do so, and it took centuries self-control to keep from rearing back in shock.

His magic stared back at him, woven so effortlessly with whatever angelic energy surrounded runes it seemed as though it were meant to be there. From the moment they had shared their energies, their power had become intrinsically familiar. Magnus’s magic had planted a seed in Alec’s being, and every time his magic had been used, fleeting spells, humming beneath his skin, its presence whenever Alexander was near had left its mark.

Seeing Alec, fully and truly wreathed in his magic, _claimed_ , was utterly breathtaking.

Magnus couldn’t move. His demeanour scarcely shifted, resisting the urge to suck in a sharp breath. Instead, he tipped his chin up, eyes flaring gold in the darkness and face a mask of sheer cool, collected power. 

“For how long do you so swear?” The words were ash on his tongue, dying as soon as he breathed them to life. He was remarkably surprised how collected he sounded at the words, barely giving an outward reaction any of his people could read.

Alec took a breath, and met his gaze. Hazel eyes almost blue in reflection of the exact shade of Magnus’s magic, he didn’t hesitate before his next statement.

“Forever.”

Around them, the room exploded. Rapid fire whispers broke out amongst overwhelming chatter as everyone scrambled to speak over one another, utter disbelief weaving the room with a ferocity that Magnus was surprised Alec didn’t flinch from it. Instead, Alec met the High Warlock’s gaze head on and, breath caught in his throat, waited for his reaction.

_You have a choice to make. I will not ask again._

You impossible man, Magnus thought helplessly as he shook his head in silent disbelief, lips parting before he collected himself. You impossibly wonderful man. He stood, slowly, drawing up to his full height and staring at the nephilim kneeling beneath him. Oaths for unending service were rare, but then again, Alec was the first of his people to partake in such a custom, let alone agree to serve the interests of the downworld above his own.

It was scarcely heard of, a rarity for a vow forever. Usually it was until the end of a term, until a crisis was over. 

No Shadowhunter had sworn fealty like this.

Alec had sworn himself for life. Unless their bond was broken or one of them violated the terms of their agreement, Alec had vowed to put the interests of the Downworld and their safety over the laws of the Clave for as long as he lived. As many years as he was alive, he would prioritize the Downworld’s needs and their interests. (It was undoubtable there would be mistakes, that he’d fumble on the way, but there was power in this oath, in the honesty that Alec wanted to protect his people as best he could.)

Magnus stood slowly, the flutter of long, silky materials tumbling down his sides. Alec took in a breath, and there was a glimmer of fear in his eyes but he didn’t look away, eyes boring into Magnus as he stayed on his knees for a downworlder. Magnus took a step closer, one step down, then another. He stopped at the base of the stairs, staring down at Alec with an inscrutable expression on his face.

“I accept your devotion and offer my own.” 

Magnus knew his voice was rough when he spoke, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

It was… unprecedented, but this whole thing was entirely unprecedented. Magnus dropped down to Alec’s level, meeting his gaze with the barest hint of a smile. “I welcome you to my own and swear my devotion to your safety and protection as you have sworn mine,” he knew the words were unconventional, the oath one that sparked whispers behind him. But, shockingly, his people didn’t seem all that upset.

  
When Magnus stood, he offered a silent hand and helped Alec to his feet. He watched, eyes fluttering up and down Alec’s face. Something he never thought he’d see again, not close like this, as though the distance between them and their worlds was cavernous and impossible to climb.

  
When Alec returned to the crowd, his people didn’t flinch. There was wariness, but they regarded him with respect and spoke to him in soft tones.

Magnus turned and strode up the steps, lounging back in his seat with a lazy roll of his wrist as vibrant shaded magic sparked to life at his fingertips. This time, his grin was not faked.

“So, now to business.”

He felt Alec’s gaze on him the rest of the night. He had no complaints for such things.

  
  


It had been centuries since anyone had chosen Magnus. But above all logic, above all reason, above every other part of life? Magnus couldn’t recall when anyone had been willing to do that. (Not besides Cat or Ragnor or Raphael, not a lover or partner or romantic interest.)

Magnus had centuries of experience. Of loving and losing, giving and giving beyond reason, rejection and being used over and over again. For he had a heart too big he gave to all the wrong people, bore the weight of thousands of lives beyond his own. He had been burned and broken down over and over again, until he tried to shut his heart against the world and only succeeded in blocking romantic entanglements, because Magnus couldn’t live and not love, not value life above all else no matter the cost it came to for his own health.

Magnus didn’t know how to not give and long and ache with lifetimes of pain, dragged under the guide of his violent step-father’s words and Asmodeus’s teachings and Camille’s manipulations, for even in death, Edom, or beyond he couldn’t escape the shadow in the corner of his vision and eyes that sang the same tune.

He was too weary, too broken, too much to be loved. Too hard to care for. Too untouchable for anyone to want to try, to look beyond and see a person beneath the glitter and flamboyance and raw power, to look after as though his feelings were not only important, but valued.

Until Alec.

Until a pretty boy archer had crouched down and scrubbed Magnus’s couch clean of blood so he wouldn’t have to expend any more magic, apologized quietly for the loss of warlocks he had never met, held him silently after he jerked awake from a nightmare and spoke nothing of it the next morning as he had asked.

And helplessly, he couldn’t help falling, couldn’t not, not after all that.

  
  


“You made your choice,” was the first thing Magnus said. It was giddy in disbelief. They’d stolen away their own moment, tucked against the walls in the corner of the VIP section. He shook his head in disbelief, voice soft. “You chose my people.”

Alec lifted his gaze. “I chose you.” It was bold, eyes bright.

Magnus’s lips parted, wanting to speak but frozen in the moment.

“You said you knew I felt what you did, and you were right,” Alec started, and the words kept tumbling faster and faster. “I did feel what you did, at least, I- I think I did. I did, and I do. I… I want you, Magnus. However you’ll have me, and if that’s an ally in your war then that’s what I’ll be. If you don’t- if you don’t want me anymore after everything, that’s- I understand because I was…” he grimaced. “I was awful to you and I’m sorry. I’ve just-” he gestured between them. “I’ve never felt like this before. I was scared. I didn’t mean to take it out on you, and I’m sorry.”

Magnus shook his head. “You stupid nephilim,” he breathed. Alec’s head snapped up to him in shock. “Did you really think I could stop wanting you? That I ever stopped? Because I haven’t Alec. I- I feel for you, deeply enough that it scares me. I’ve… rarely felt this deeply for someone this early.”

He cleared his throat, twisting to fiddle with the cuff decorating his ear.

“Then again, I’ve never been with a nephilim or heard let alone seen one swear an oath of service to a downworlder,” his lips quirked up in amusement. He paused. “Alec… you- how?”

Alec blinked at him. “How…?” His words lilted uncertainly and Magnus shook his head, wordless.

“How did you learn that?”

Alec’s lips twisted into a smile, something small and proud and glinting with joy. “I used the Clave’s archives, sometimes, to read about things we aren’t normally granted access to. Perks of being Acting Head of the Institute,” he admitted. He hesitated. “I- wanted to, a lot. I was terrified of doing it, but after I met you-” He faltered and looked at Magnus. “I wanted to know everything I could. Angel knows we’d need it.”

“I don’t like change. I don’t- it’s hard for me to see things. I know things aren’t always clear cut but things just seem wrong or right and it’s hard for me,” he made a frustrated gesture. “To understand something deeper than that. ...it had to be wrong. So then I had to think more and more about… everything and if they were wrong about that what if they were wrong about everything else and I couldn’t-” He trailed off. “I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“You were the only person who didn’t treat me like I was weird, like everything I had to say mattered. Like I wasn’t being irrational, even when I probably was,” Alec lifted a hand to cut the protest swelling on Magnus’s tongue off. “Izzy and Jace were better, but they didn’t- they never understood and they pushed and they didn’t- they didn’t like all those parts of me because they could be frustrating or weird.”

“I chose you,” Alec reached out, an unconscious gesture fueled by need and grasped Magnus’s hand. The moment he realized what he’d done his shoulders stiffened a touch, cheeks flushing, but he did not draw away. The same determination glowed in his eyes. “You haven’t given me reason yet to believe I was wrong.”

“They don’t care about me,” Alec said, voice cracked with a painful certainty, an ache of knowledge that wore on him. “The Clave… they never have. But you… you care about others. Even when you shouldn’t, against all reason. ...I want that.”

Magnus reached up, to cup his cheek and his lips parted as he stared in astonishment at the shadowhunter across from him. Didn’t he realize? “You already have it.” He always had.

(“You know,” the words were a whispered confession under cover of night, curled against Magnus in the darkness of the loft. “When I was a kid, I imagined a warlock coming to save me.”

Magnus faltered, something pained and suffocating swelling in his throat as he hand stilled. “Alexander,” the name was a mournful sound, and he reached out to run his fingers through Alec’s hair the way he knew settled him.

“I knew Mom hated them,” the words were all but a hiss. “Or… was frightened of them. And I wanted… I wanted to leave, even though it would have been impossible.”

Magnus tried to imagine it, for a moment. A small Alec, bundled up in blankets, quiet and eyes too wide and analytical and worn for a child his age, perhaps sporting a bruise or two, hiding from the crescendo of angry voices and dreaming. Imagining someone scooping him up and sheltering him away from the violence, the way he sought to shield his siblings and wrap them in the same softness he longed for himself.

“I wish someone had come for you,” Magnus told him in a tight voice, speeding up his movements as he pet Alec’s hair, desperately trying to quell the rage tightening in his throat.

Alec looked at him, something soft and inscrutable before he said softly, “I wish someone had done that for you.”

...there was little Magnus could do at that but choke on his own breath, aching, and try to quell his own tears.)

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Alec startled and Magnus shook his head against furious tears that wanted to slip. “Don’t argue with me on that. Not many would be willing to abandon their way of life in defence of the people revolting against them. You’re willing to give all that up?”

“It’s not just for you,” Alec said softly. “I mean, I want… I want you. I want the chance to be with you, but I want to undo the actions of my parents. My whole life I’ve been told we need to uphold the family name, when the truth is, they wanted us to fix it from their own horrible choices. Their own rebellion that led to catastrophic casualties. I want to do what I can to make up for that, but not there. Not like they want me to. They wanted us to prove the Lightwoods are worthy, and this is the best way to do it. They’ve already proven their judgment is skewed, and maybe mine is to, but I refuse to believe that protecting innocents is the wrong choice.”

He lifted his eyes.

“Your people deserve better.”

Magnus swallowed hard. “So do you,” he whispered.

Alec’s lips twisted into some more sheepish smile.

It wouldn’t be easy for him to believe that, perhaps the hardest thing of all.

* * *

“You know what I just realized? With everything that’s happened, we’ve never-” Magnus paused, looking up at Alec. “We still haven’t gone on our first date. Not... _officially.”_

Alec smiled softly, something pure and free and utterly elated in a way he so rarely lets his features show. “You’re right,” he breathed thoughtfully, and Magnus huffed a little laugh, dropping his gaze lower to watch the way Alec fidgets with his hands.

“You wanna, I don’t know…” his hands fluttered up and down in the air, swelling between them in delight, and Magnus felt his own gaze grow impossibly fonder at that. “Get a drink sometime?”

Magnus took Alec’s hand in his, softly, gauging the waters and watching the way his other hand flaps, fingers darting up and down as they held each other, a final haven in a storm.

“I would love that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and thank you to my lovely beta and lycheejelly for art for this fic!!
> 
> Check out said gorgeous art here: [link](https://greentealycheejelly.tumblr.com/post/628447670077390848/art-for-in-every-universe-we-find-each-other-by)


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